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diff --git a/old/gp98w10.txt b/old/gp98w10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..98da7c1 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/gp98w10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4564 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook Embers, by Gilbert Parker, Complete. +#98 in our series by Gilbert Parker + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**EBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These EBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers***** + + +Title: Embers, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: August, 2004 [EBook #6271] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 21, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + + + + + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMBERS, BY PARKER, ENTIRE *** + + + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + + + + + +EMBERS, Complete + +By Gilbert Parker + + + +CONTENTS + +Volume 1. +EMBERS +ROSLEEN +WILL YOU COME BACK HOME? +MARY CALLAGHAN AND ME +KILDARE +YOU'LL TRAVEL FAR AND WIDE +FARCALLADEN RISE +GIVE ME THE LIGHT HEART +WHERE SHALL WE BETAKE US? +NO MAN'S LAND +AT SEA +ATHENIAN +EYES LIKE THE SEA +UNDER THE CLIFF +OPEN TRY GATE +SUMMER IS COME +O FLOWER OF ALL THE WORLD +WAS IT SOME GOLDEN STAR? +I HEARD THE DESERT CALLING +THE FORGOTTEN WORD +WHAT WILL IT MATTER? +THE COURIER STAR +CONTENTS +CONTENTS +THE WORLD IN MAKING +HEW +O SON OF MAN +AT THE END OF THE WORLD +WAYFARERS +THE RED PATROL +THE YELLOW SWAN +THE HEART OF THE PIONEER +THE NORTH TRAIL +ALONE +THE SCARLET HILLS +THE WOODSMAN LOVER +QUI VIVE +THE LITTLE HOUSE +SPINNING +FLY AWAY, MY HEART +SUZON +MY LITTLE TENDER HEART +THE MEN OF THE NORTH +THE CROWNING +CLOSE UP +W. E. H. +WHEN BLOWS THE WIND + + +Volume 2. +DOLLY +LIFE'S SWEET WAGES +TO THE VALLEY +THE LILY FLOWER +LOVE IN HER COLD GRAVE LIES +GRANADA, GRANADA +THE NEW APHRODITE +AN ANCIENT PLEDGE +THE TRIBUTE OF KING HATH +THERE IS AN ORCHARD +HEART OF THE WORLD +EPITAPHS +THE BEGGAR +THE MAID +THE FOOL +THE FIGHTER +THE SEA-REAPERS +THE WATCHER +THE WAKING +WHEN ONE FORGETS +ALOES AND MYRRH +IN WASTE PLACES +LAST OF ALL +AFTER +REMEDIAL +THE TWILIGHT OF LOVE +IRREVOCABLE +THE LAST DREAM +WAITING +IN MAYTIME +INSIDE THE BAR +THE CHILDREN +LITTLE GARAINE +TO A LITTLE CHILD +L'EMPEREUR, MORT +PHYLLIS +BAIRNIE + + +Volume 3. +IN CAMDEN TOWN +JEAN +A MEMORY +IN CAMP AT JUNIPER COVE +JUNIPER COVE TWENTY YEARS AFTER +LISTENING +NEVERTHELESS +ISHMAEL +OVER THE HILLS +THE DELIVERER +THE DESERT ROAD +A SON OF THE NILE +A FAREWELL FROM THE HAREM +AN ARAB LOVE SONG +THE CAMEL-DRIVER TO HIS CAMEL +THE TALL DABOON +THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA +THE AUSTRALIAN STOCKRIDER +THE BRIDGE OF THE HUNDRED SPANS +NELL LATORE + + + + +INTRODUCTION + +I had not intended that Embers should ever be given to the public, but +friends whose judgment I respect have urged me to include it in the +subscription edition at least, and with real reluctance I have consented. +It was a pleasure to me to have one piece of work of mine which made no +bid for pence or praise; but if that is a kind of selfishness, perhaps +unnecessary, since no one may wish to read the verses, I will now free +myself from any chance of reproach. This much I will say to soothe away +my own compunctions, that the book will only make the bid for popularity +or consideration with near a score of others, and not separately, and +that my responsibility is thus modified. The preface to Embers says all +that need be said about a collection which is, on the whole, merely a +book of youth and memory and impressionism in verse. At least it was all +spontaneous; it was not made to order on any page of it, and it is the +handful left from very many handfuls destroyed. Since the first edition +(intended only for my personal friends) was published I have written +"Rosleen," "Where Shall We Betake Us?" "Granada," "Mary Callaghan and +Me," "The Crowning" (on the Coronation of King Edward VII), the fragment +"Kildare" and "I Heard the Desert Calling"; and I have also included +others like "The Tall Dakoon" and "The Red Patrol," written over twenty +years ago. "Mary Callaghan and Me" has been set to music by Mr. Max +Muller, and has made many friends, and "The Crowning" was the Coronation +ode of 'The People', which gave a prize, too ample I think, for the best +musical setting of the lines. Many of the other pieces in 'Embers' have +been set to music by distinguished composers like Sir Edward Elgar, who +has made a song-cycle of several, Sir Alexander Mackenzie, Mr. Arthur +Foote, Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, Robert Somerville, and others. The +first to have musical setting was "You'll Travel Far and Wide," to which +in 1895 Mr. Arthur Foote gave fame as "An Irish Folk Song." Like "O +Flower of All the World," by Mrs. Amy Woodforde Finden, it has had a +world of admirers, and such singers as Mrs. Henschel helped to make Mr. +Foote's music loved by thousands, and conferred something more than an +ephemeral acceptance of the author's words. + + + + + When thou comest to the safe tent of the good comrade, + abide there till thy going forth with a stedfast mind; and + if, at the hospitable fire, thou hast learned the secret of a + heart, thou shalt keep it holy, as the North Wind the + trouble of the Stars. + + + + + PROEM + + And the Angel said: + "What hast thou for all thy travail-- + what dost thou bring with thee out + of the dust of the world?" + + And the man answered: + "Behold, I bring one perfect yesterday!" + + And the Angel questioned: + "Hast thou then no to-morrow? + Hast thou no hope?" + + And the man replied: + "Who am I that I should hope! + Out of all my life I have been granted one + sheaf of memory." + + And the Angel said: + "Is this all!" + + And the man answered: + "Of all else was I robbed by the way: + but Memory was hidden safely + in my heart--the world found it not." + + + + + + + ROSLEEN + + "She's the darlin' of the parish, she's the pride of + Inniskillen; + 'Twould make your heart lep up to see her trippin' + down the glen; + There's not a lad of life and fame that wouldn't take + her shillin' + And inlist inside her service-did ye hear her laugh- + in' then? + + Did ye see her with her hand in mine the day that + Clancy married? + Ah, darlin', how we footed it-the grass it was so + green! + And when the neighbours wandered home, I was the + guest that tarried, + An hour plucked from Paradise--come back to me, + Rosleen! + + Across the seas, beyand the hills, by lovely Inniskillen, + The rigiment come marchin'--I hear the call once + more + Shure, a woman's but a woman--so I took the Ser- + geant's shillin', + For the pride o' me was hurted--shall I never see + her more? + + She turned her face away from me, and black as night + the land became; + Her eyes were jewels of the sky, the finest iver seen; + She left me for another lad, he was a lad of life and + fame, + And the heart of me was hurted--but there's none + that's like Rosleen!" + + + + + + + WILL YOU COME BACK HOME? + + Will you come back home, where the young larks are + singin'? + The door is open wide, and the bells of Lynn are ringin'; + There's a little lake I know, + And a boat you used to row + To the shore beyond that's quiet--will you come back + home? + + Will you come back, darlin'? Never heed the pain and + blightin', + Never trouble that you're wounded, that you bear the + scars of fightin'; + Here's the luck o' Heaven to you, + Here's the hand of love will brew you + The cup of peace--ah, darlin', will you come back + home? + + + + + + + MARY CALLAGHAN AND ME + + It was as fine a churchful as you ever clapt an eye on; + Oh, the bells was ringin' gaily, and the sun was shinin' + free; + There was singers, there was clargy--"Bless ye both," + says Father Tryon-- + They was weddin' Mary Callaghan and me. + + There was gatherin' of women, there was hush upon the + stairway, + There was whisperin' and smilin', but it was no place + for me; + A little ship was comin' into harbour through the fair- + way-- + It belongs to Mary Callaghan and me. + + Shure, the longest day has endin', and the wildest storm + has fallin'-- + There's a young gossoon in yander, and he sits upon + my knee; + There's a churchful for the christenin'--do you hear + the imp a-callin'? + He's the pride of Mary Callaghan and me. + + + + + + + KILDARE + + He's the man that killed Black Care, + He's the pride of all Kildare; + Shure the devil takes his hat off whin he comes: + 'Tis the clargy bow before him, + 'Tis the women they adore him, + And the Lord Lieutenant orders out the drums-- + For his hangin', all the drums, + All the drums! + + + + + + + YOU'LL TRAVEL FAR AND WIDE + + You'll travel far and wide, dear, but you'll come back + again, + You'll come back to your father and your mother in + the glen, + Although we should be lyin' 'neath the heather grasses + then-- + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'! + + You'll see the icebergs sailin' along the wintry foam, + The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as + they roam; + But you'll not forget the rowan beside your father's + home + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'! + + New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on + you smile; + You'll bide with them and love them, but you'll long + for us the while; + For the word across the water, and the farewell by the + stile-- + For the true heart's here, my darlin'! + + You'll hear the wild birds singin' beneath a brighter sky, + The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and + high; + But you'll hunger for the hearthstone where, a child, + you used to lie-- + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'! + + And when your foot is weary, and when your heart is sore, + And you come back to the moor that spreads beyand + your father's door, + There'll be many an ancient comrade to greet you on + the shore-- + At your comin' back, my darlin' ! + + Ah, the hillock cannot cover, and the grass it cannot hide + The love that never changeth, whatever wind or tide; + And though you'll not be seein', we'll be standin' by + your side-- + You'll be comin' back, my darlin'! + + O, there's no home like the old home, there's no pillow + like the breast + You slumbered on in childhood, like a young bird in + the nest: + We are livin' still and waitin', and we're hopin' for the + best-- + Ah, you're comin' back, my darlin'--comin' back! + + + + + + + FARCALLADEN RISE + + Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; + With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, + And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen! + + And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur, + And it's back with the sun on the hill and the moor, + And it's back is the thought sets my pulses astir,-- + But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more! + + Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, + And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear, + And it's keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, + That we rode to the glen, and with never a fear. + + And it's hey for the hedge, and it's hey for the wall, + And it's over the stream with an echoing cry; + And there's three fled for ever from old Donegal, + And there's two that have shown how bold Irishmen die! + + For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men, + And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last; + And it's here's to the lasses we leave in the glen, + With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past! + + + + + + + GIVE ME THE LIGHT HEART + + Give, me the light heart, Heaven above! + Give me the hand of a friend, + Give me one high fine spirit to love, + I'll abide my fate to the end: + I will help where I can, I will cherish my own, + Nor walk the steep way of the world alone. + + + + + + + WHERE SHALL WE BETAKE US? + + "Where shall we betake us when the day's work is over? + (Ah, red is the rose-bush in the lane.) + Happy is the maid that knows the footstep of her lover-- + (Sing the song, the Eden song, again.) + Who shall listen to us when black sorrow comes a-reaping? + (See the young lark falling from the sky.) + Happy is the man that has a true heart in his keeping-- + True hearts flourish when the roses die." + + + + + + + NO MAN'S LAND + + Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, beyond the city gates, + The little city set upon a hill; + And we have seen the jocund smile upon the lips of Fate, + And we have known the splendours of our will. + + Oh, we have wandered far, my dear, and we have loved apace; + A little hut we built upon the sand, + The sun without to lighten it, within, your golden face,-- + O happy dream, O happy No Man's Land! + + The pleasant furniture of spring was set in all the fields, + And gay and wholesome were the herbs and flowers; + Our simple cloth of love was spread with all that nature yields, + And frugal only were the passing hours. + + Oh, we have been a-maying, dear, we've left the world behind, + We've sung and danced and gossiped as we strayed; + And when within our little but your fingers draw the blind, + We'll loiter by the fire that love has made. + + + + + + + AT SEA + + Through the round window above, the deep palpable blue, + The wan bright moon, and the sweet stinging breath of the sea; + And below, in the shadows, thine eyes like stars, + And Love brooding low, and the warm white glory of thee. + + Oh, soft was the song in my soul, and soft beyond thought + were thy lips, + And thou wert mine own, and Eden reconquered was mine + And the way that I go is the way of thy feet, and the breath + that I breathe, + It hath being from thee and life from the life that is thine! + + + + + + + ATHENIAN + + Your voice I knew, its cadences and thrill; + It stilled the tumult and the overthrow + When Athens trembled to the people's will; + I knew it--'twas a thousand years ago. + + I see the fountains, and the gardens where + You sang the fury from the Satrap's brow; + I feel the quiver in the raptured air, + I heard it in the Athenian grove--I hear you now. + + + + + + + EYES LIKE THE SEA + + Eyes like the sea, look up, the beacons brighten, + Home comes the sailor, home across the tide! + Back drifts the cloud, behold the heavens whiten, + The port of Love is open, he anchors at thy side. + + + + + + + UNDER THE CLIFF + The sands and the sea, and the white gulls fleeting, + The mist on the island, the cloud on the hill; + The song in my heart, and the old hope beating + Its life 'gainst the bars of thy will. + + + + + + + OPEN THY GATE + + Here in the highway without thy garden wall, + Here in the babel and the glare, + Sick for thy haven, O Sweet, to thee I call: + Open thy gate unto my prayer-- + Open thy gate. + + Cool is thy garden-plot, pleasant thy shade, + All things commend thee in thy place; + Dwelling on thy perfectness, O Sweet, I am afraid, + But, fearing, long to look upon thy face-- + Open thy gate. + + Over the ample globe, searching for thee, + Thee and thy garden have I come; + Ended my questing: no more, no more for me, + O Sweet, the pilgrim's sandals, call me home-- + Open thy gate. + + + + + + + SUMMER IS COME + + Summer is come; the corn is in the ear, + The haze is swimming where the beeches stand; + Summer is come, though winter months be here-- + My love is summer passing through the land. + + Summer is come; I hear the skylarks sing, + The honeysuckle flaunts it to the bees; + Summer is come, and 'tis not yet the spring-- + My love is summer blessing all she sees. + + Summer is come; I see an open door, + A sweet hand beckons, and I know + That, winter or summer, I shall go forth no more-- + My heart is homing where her summer-roses grow. + + + + + + + O FLOWER OF ALL THE WORLD + + O flower of all the world, O flower of all, + The garden where thou dwellest is so fair, + Thou art so goodly, and so queenly tall, + Thy sweetness scatters sweetness everywhere, + O flower of all! + + O flower of all the years, O flower of all, + A day beside thee is a day of days; + Thy voice is softer than the throstle's call, + There is not song enough to sing thy praise, + O flower of all! + + O flower of all the years, O flower of all, + I seek thee in thy garden, and I dare + To love thee; and though my deserts be small, + Thou art the only flower I would wear, + O flower of all! + + + + + + + WAS IT SOME GOLDEN STAR? + + Once in another land, + Ages ago, + You were a queen, and I, + I loved you so: + Where was it that we loved-- + Ah, do you know? + + Was it some golden star + Hot with romance? + Was it in Malabar, + Italy, France? + Did we know Charlemagne, + Dido, perchance? + + But you were a queen, and I + Fought for you then: + How did you honour me-- + More than all men! + Kissed me upon the lips; + Kiss me again. + + Have you forgotten it, + All that we said? + I still remember though + Ages have fled. + Whisper the word of life,-- + "Love is not dead." + + + + + + + I HEARD THE DESERT CALLING + + I heard the desert calling, and my heart stood still-- + There was winter in my world and in my heart; + A breath came from the mesa, and a message stirred my will, + And my soul and I arose up to depart. + + I heard the desert calling, and I knew that over there + In an olive-sheltered garden where the mesquite grows, + Was a woman of the sunrise with the star-shine in her hair + And a beauty that the almond-blossom blows. + + In the night-time when the ghost-trees glimmered in the moon, + Where the mesa by the water-course was spanned, + Her loveliness enwrapped me like the blessedness of June, + And all my life was thrilling in her hand. + + I hear the desert calling, and my heart stands still-- + There is summer in my world, and in my heart; + A breath comes from the mesa, and a will beyond my will + Binds my footsteps as I rise up to depart. + + + + + + + THE FORGOTTEN WORD + + Once in the twilight of the Austrian hills, + A word came to me, wonderful and good; + If I had spoken it--that message of the stars-- + Love would have filled thy blood; + Love would have sent thee pulsing to my arms, + Laughing with joy, thy heart a nestling bird + An instant passed--it fled; and now I seek in vain + For that forgotten word. + + + + + + + WHAT WILL IT MATTER? + + What will this matter, dear, when you and I + Have left our sad world for some fairer sky? + What will it matter, dear, when, far apart, + We miss the touch of hand and beat of heart; + When one's at peace, while unto one is given + With lonely feet to walk the hills at even? + What will it matter that one fault more now + Brings clouds upon one eager mortal brow, + That one grace less is given to one poor soul, + When both drink from the last immortal bowl? + For fault and grace, dear love, when we go hence + Will find the same Eternal recompense. + + + + + + + THE COURIER STAR + + Into a New World wandered I, + A strong vast realm afar; + And down the white peaks of its sky, + Beckoned my courier star. + + It hailed me to mine ancient North,-- + The meadows of the Pole; + It whistled my gay hunters forth, + It bugled in my soul. + On plateaux of the constant snow + I heard the meteors whir; + I saw the red wolves nor'ward go + From my low huts of fir. + + The dun moose ran the deep ravine, + The musk-ox ranged the plain; + The hunter's song dripped in between + In notes of scarlet rain. + + The land was mine: its lonely pride, + Its distant deep desires; + And I abode, as hunters bide, + With joy beside its fires. + + Into a New World wandered I, + A world austere, sublime; + And unseen feet came sauntering by; + A voice with ardent chime + Rang down the idle lanes of sleep; + I waked: the night was still; + I saw my star its sentry keep + Along a southern hill. + + O flaming star! my courier star! + My herald, fine and tall! + You gestured from your opal car, + I answered to that call. + I rose; the flumes of snow I trod, + I trailed to southward then; + I left behind the camps of God, + And sought the tents of men. + + And where a princely face looked through + The curtains of the play + Of life, O star, you paused; I knew + The comrade of my day. + And good the trails that I have trod, + My courier star before; + And good the nor'land camps of God: + And though I lodge no more + + Where stalwart deeds and dreams rejoice, + And gallant hunters roam, + Where I can hear your voice, your voice, + I drive the tent-peg home. + + + + + + + THE WORLD IN MAKING + + When God was making the world, + (Swift was the wind and white was the fire) + The feet of His people danced the stars; + There was laughter and swinging bells, + And clanging iron and breaking breath, + The hammers of heaven making the hills, + The vales, on the anvils of God. + (Wild is the fire and low is the wind) + + When God had finished the world, + (Bright was the fire and sweet was the wind) + Up from the valleys came song, + To answer the morning stars; + And the hand of man on the anvil rang, + His breath was big in his breast, his life + Beat strong 'gainst the walls of the world. + (Glad is the wind and tall is the fire) + + + + + + + HEW + + None shall stand in the way of the lord, + The Lord of the Earth--of the rivers and trees, + Of the cattle and fields and vines: + Hew! + Here shall I build me my cedar home, + A city with gates, a road to the sea-- + For I am the lord of the Earth: + Hew! Hew! + Hew and hew, and the sap of the tree + Shall be yours, and your bones shall be strong, + Shall be yours, and your heart shall rejoice, + Shall be yours, and the city be yours, + And the key of its gates be the key + Of the home where your little ones dwell. + Hew and be strong! Hew and rejoice! + For man is the lord of the Earth, + And God is the Lord over all. + + + + + + + O SON OF MAN + + "Son of man, stand upon thy feet + and I will speak to thee." + + O son of man, behold + If thou shouldst stumble on the nameless trail, + The trail that no man rides, + Lift up thy heart, + Behold, O son of man, thou hast a helper near! + + O son of man, take heed + If thou shouldst fall upon the vacant plain, + The plain that no man loves, + Reach out thy hand, + Take heed, O son of man, strength shall be given thee! + + O son of man, rejoice: + If thou art blinded even at the door, + The door of the Safe Tent, + Sing in thy heart, + Rejoice, O son of man, thy pilot leads thee home! + + + + + + + AT THE END OF THE WORLD + + In the lodge of the Mother of Men, + In the land of Desire, + Are the embers of fire, + Are the ashes of those who return. + Who return to the world; + Who flame at the breath + Of the Mockers of Death. + O Sweet, we will voyage again + To the camp of Love's fire, + Nevermore to return! + + O love, by the light of thine eyes + We will fare over-sea; + We will be + As the silver-winged herons that rest + By the shallows, + The shallows of sapphire stone; + No more shall we wander alone. + As the foam to the shore + Is my spirit to thine, + And God's serfs as they fly,-- + The Mockers of Death- + They will breathe on the embers of fire + We shall live by that breath. + Sweet, thy heart to my heart, + As we journey afar, + No more, nevermore, to return! + + + + + + + WAYFARERS + + War does the fire no longer burn? + (I am so lonely) + Why does the tent-door swing outward? + (I have no home) + Oh, let me breathe hard in your face! + (I am so lonely) + Oh, why do you shut your eyes to me? + (I have no home) + + Let us make friends with the stars; + (I am so lonely) + Give me your hand, I will hold it; + (I have no home) + Let us go hunting together: + (I am so lonely) + We will sleep at God's camp to-night. + (I have no home) + + + + + + + THE RED PATROL + + He stands in the porch of the World-- + (Why should the door be shut?) + The grey wolf waits at his heel, + (Why is the window barred?) + Wild is the trail from the Kimash Hills, + The blight has fallen on bush and tree, + The choking earth has swallowed the streams, + Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol- + (Why should the door be shut?) + The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide-- + (Why is the window barred?) + + He waits at the threshold stone-- + (Why should the key-hole rust?) + The eagle broods at his side, + (Why should the blind be drawn?) + Long has he watched and far has he called-- + The lonely sentinel of the North-- + "Who goes there?" to the wandering soul + Heavy of heart is the Red Patrol-- + (Why should the key-hole rust?) + The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home, + (Why should the blind be drawn?) + + Heavy of heart is the Red Patrol-- + (Why should the key-hole rust?) + The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home, + (Why should the blind be drawn?) + Hungry and cold is the Red Patrol-- + (Why should the door be shut?) + The Scarlet Hunter has come to bide, + (Why is the window barred?) + + + + + + + THE YELLOW SWAN + + In the flash of the singing dawn, + At the door of the Great One, + The joy of his lodge knelt down, + Knelt down, and her hair in the sun + Shone like showering dust, + And her eyes were as eyes of the fawn. + And she cried to her lord, + "O my lord, O my life, + From the desert I come; + From the hills of the Dawn." + And he lifted the curtain and said, + "Hast thou seen It, the Yellow Swan?" + + And she lifted her head, and her eyes + Were as lights in the dark, + And her hands folded slow on her breast, + And her face was as one who has seen + The gods and the place where they dwell; + And she said, "Is it meet that I kneel, + That I kneel as I speak to my lord?" + And he answered her, "Nay, but to stand, + And to sit by my side; + But speak: thou has followed the trail, + Hast thou found It, the Yellow Swan?" + And she stood as a queen, and her voice + Was as one who hath seen the Hills, + The Hills of the Mighty Men, + And hath heard them cry in the night, + Hath heard them call in the dawn, + Hath seen It, the Yellow Swan. + And she said, "It is not for my lord"; + And she murmured, "I cannot tell; + But my lord must go as I went, + And my lord must come as I came, + And my lord shall be wise." + + And he cried in his wrath, + "What is thine, it is mine, + And thine eyes are my eyes, + Thou shalt speak of the Yellow Swan." + But she answered him, "Nay, though I die. + I have lain in the nest of the Swan, + I have heard, I have known; + When thine eyes too have seen, + When thine ears too have heard, + Thou shalt do with me then as thou wilt." + + And he lifted his hand to strike, + And he straightened his spear to slay; + But a great light struck on his eyes, + And he heard the rushing of wings, + And his long spear fell from his hand, + And a terrible stillness came: + And when the spell passed from his eyes + He stood in his doorway alone, + And gone was the queen of his soul + And gone was the Yellow Swan. + + + + + + + THE HEART OF THE PIONEER + + My dear love, she waits for me, + None other my world is adorning; + My true love I come to thee, + My dear, the white star of the morning. + Eagles, spread out your wings,-- + Behold where the red dawn is breaking! + Hark, 'tis my darling sings, + The flowers, the song-birds, awaking-- + See, where she comes to me, + My love, ah, my dear love! + + + + + + + THE NORTH TRAIL + + "Oh, where did you get them, the bonny, bonny roses + That blossom in your cheeks, and the morning in your eyes?" + "I got them on the North Trail, the road that never closes, + That widens to the seven gold gates of Paradise." + "O come, let us camp in the North Trail together, + With the night-fires lit and the tent-pegs down." + + + + + + + ALONE + + O, O, the winter wind, the North wind-- + My snow-bird, where art thou gone? + O, O the wailing wind, the night wind-- + The cold nest; I am alone. + O, O my snow-bird! + + O, O, the waving sky, the white sky-- + My snow-bird, thou fliest far; + O, O the eagle's cry, the wild cry-- + My lost love, my lonely star. + O, O my snow-bird! + + + + + + + THE SCARLET HILLS + + Brothers, we go to the Scarlet Hills-- + (Little gold sun, come out of the dawn.) + There we will meet in the cedar groves-- + (Shining white dew, come down.) + There is a bed where you sleep so sound, + The little good folk of the Hills will guard, + Till the morning wakes and your love comes home-- + (Fly away, heart, to the Scarlet Hills.) + + + + + + + THE WOODSMAN LOVER + + High in a nest of the tam'rac tree, + Swing under, so free, and swing over; + Swing under the sun and swing over the world, + My snow-bird, my gay little lover- + My gay little lover, don, don! . . . don, don! + + When the winter is done I will come back home, + To the nest swinging under and over, + Swinging under and over and waiting for me, + Your rover, my snow-bird, your lover-- + My lover and rover, don, don! . . . don, don! + + + + + + + QUI VIVE + + Qui vive! + Who is it cries in the dawn, + Cries when the stars go down? + Who is it comes through the mist, + The mist that is fine like lawn, + The mist like an angel's gown? + Who is it comes in the dawn? + Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn. + + Qui vive! + Who is it passeth us by, + Still in the dawn and the mist-- + Tall seigneur of the dawn, + A two-edged sword at his thigh, + A shield of gold at his wrist? + Who is it hurrieth by? + Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn. + + Qui vive! + Who saileth into the morn, + Out of the wind of the dawn? + "Follow, oh, follow me on!" + Calleth a distant horn. + He is here--he is there--he is gone, + Tall seigneur of the dawn! + Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn. + + + + + + + THE LITTLE HOUSE + + I + + Children, the house is empty, + The house behind the tall hill; + Lonely and still is the empty house. + There is no face in the doorway, + There is no fire in the chimney-- + Come and gather beside the gate, + Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills. + + Where has the wild dog vanished? + Where has the swift foot gone? + Where is the hand that found the good fruit, + That made a garret of wholesome herbs? + Where is the voice that awoke the morn, + The tongue that defied the terrible beasts? + Come and listen beside the door, + Little Good Folk of the Scarlet Hills. + + + II + + Sorrowful is the little house, + The little house by the winding stream; + All the laughter has died away + Out of the little house. + But down there come from the lofty hills + Footsteps and eyes agleam, + Bringing the laughter of yesterday + Into the little house, + By the winding stream and the hills. + Di ron, di ron, di ron-don! + + + III + + What is there like to the cry of the bird + That sings in its nest in the lilac tree? + A voice the sweetest you ever have heard; + It is there, it is here, ci, ci! + It is there, it is here, it must roam and roam, + And wander from shore to shore, + Till I travel the hills and bring it home, + And enter and close my door-- + Row along, row along home, ci, ci! + + What is there like to the laughing star, + Far up from the lilac tree? + A face that's brighter and finer far; + It laughs and it shines, ci, ci! + It laughs and it shines, it must roam and roam, + And travel from shore to shore, + Till I get me forth and bring it home, + And house it within my door-- + Row along, row along home, ci, ci! + + + + + + + SPINNING + + Spin, spin, belle Mergaton! + The moon wheels full, and the tide flows high, + And your wedding-gown you must put it on + Ere the night hath no moon in the sky + Gigoton, Mergaton, spin! + + Spin, spin, belle Mergaton! + Your gown shall be stitched ere the old moon fade: + The age of a moon shall your hands spin on, + Or a wife in her shroud shall be laid-- + Gigoton, Mergaton, spin! + + Spin, spin, belle Mergaton! + The Little Good Folk the spell they have cast; + By your work well done while the moon hath shone, + Ye shall cleave unto joy at last-- + Gigoton, Mergaton, spin! + + + + + + + FLY AWAY, MY HEART + "O traveller, see where the red sparks rise," + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + But dark is the mist in the traveller's eyes. + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + "O traveller, see far down the gorge, + The crimson light from my father's forge-" + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + + "O traveller, hear how the anvils ring"; + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + But the traveller heard, ah, never a thing: + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + "O traveller, loud do the bellows roar, + And my father waits by the smithy door-" + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + + "O traveller, see you thy true love's grace," + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + And now there is joy in the traveller's face: + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + Oh, wild does he ride through the rain and mire, + To greet his love by the smithy fire-- + (Fly away, my heart, fly away) + + + + + + + SUZON + + O mealman white, give me your daughter, + Oh, give her to me, your sweet Suzon! + O mealman dear, you can do no better, + For I have a chateau at Malmaison. + + Black charcoalman, you shall not have her + She shall not marry you, my Suzon-- + A bag of meal, and a sack of carbon! + Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non + + Go look at your face, my fanfaron, + For my daughter and you would be night and day. + Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, + Not for your chateau at Malmaison; + Non, non, non, non, non, non, non, non, + You shall not marry her, my Suzon. + + + + + + + MY LITTLE TENDER HEART + + My little tender heart, + O gai, vive le roi! + My little tender heart, + O gai, vive le roi! + 'Tis for a grand baron, + Vive le roi, la reine! + 'Tis for a grand baron, + Vive Napoleon! + + My mother promised it, + O gai, vive le roi! + My mother promised it, + O gai, vive le roi! + To a gentleman of the king, + Vive le roi, la reine! + To a gentleman of the king, + Vive Napoleon! + + Oh, say, where goes your love? + O gai, vive le roi! + Oh, say, where goes your love? + O gai, vive le roi! + He rides on a white horse, + Vive le roi, la reine! + He wears a silver sword, + Vive Napoleon! + + Oh, grand to the war he goes, + O gai, vive le roi! + Oh, grand to the war he goes, + O gai, vive le roi! + Gold and silver he will bring, + Vive le roi, la reine! + And eke the daughter of a king-- + Vive Napoleon! + + + + + + + THE MEN OF THE NORTH + + They have wrestled their thews with the Arctic bear, + With tireless moose they've trod; + They have drained heel-deep of a fighting air, + And breasted the winds of God. + They have stretched their beds in the hummocked snow, + They have set their teeth to the Pole; + With Death they have gamed it, throw for throw, + And drunk with him bowl for bowl-- + They are all for thee, O England! + + In their birch canoes they have run cloud-high, + On the crest of a nor'land storm; + They have soaked the sea, and have braved the sky, + And laughed at the Conqueror Worm. + They reck not beast and they fear no man, + They have trailed where the panther glides; + On the edge of a mountain barbican, + They have tracked where the reindeer hides-- + And these are for thee, O England! + + They have freed your flag where the white Pole-Star + Hangs out its auroral flame; + Where the bones of your Franklin's heroes are + They have honoured your ancient name. + And, iron in blood and giant in girth, + They have stood for your title-deed + Of the infinite North, and your lordly worth, + And your pride and your ancient greed-- + And for love of thee, O England! + + + + + + + THE CROWNING + + A thousand years of power, + A thousand marches done, + Lands beyond lands our dower, + Flag with no setting sun-- + Now to the new King's sealing, + Come from the farthest seas, + Sons of the croft and sheiling, + Sons of the moor and leas-- + + Those that went from us, daring + The wastes and the wilds and the wood: + Hither they come to us, sharing + Our glory, the call of the blood; + Hither they come to the sealing-- + They or the seed of them come, + Bring the new King the revealing + Of continents yesterday dumb. + + Out on the veldt, in the pineland, + Camped by the spring or the hill, + Pressing the grapes of the vineland, + Grinding the wheat at the mill, + Oracles whispered the message + Meant for the ear of the King-- + Joyous and splendid the presage, + Lofty the vision they bring! + + Each for his new land--he made it; + Each for the Old Land which gave + Treasure, that none should invade it, + Blood its high altars to lave; + Each for the brotherhood nations, + All of the nations for each: + Here giving thanks and oblations, + One in our blood and our speech, + + Pledging our love and alliance, + Faith upon faith for the King, + Making no oath in defiance, + Crying, "No challenge we fling," + Yet for the peace of all people, + Yet for the good of our own, + Here, with our prayers and oblations, + Pledge we our lives to the throne! + + + + + + + CLOSE UP + + You heard the bugles calling, comrades, brothers,-- + "Close up! Close up!" You mounted to go forth, + You answered "We are coming," and you gathered, + And paraded with your Captains in the North. + + From here you came, from there you came, your voices + All flashing with your joy as flash the stars, + You waited, watched, until, the last one riding + Out of the night, came roll-call after wars. + + Unsling your swords, off with your knapsacks, brothers! + We'll mess here at headquarters once again; + Drink and forget the scars; drink and remember + The joy of fighting and the pride of pain. + + We will forget: the great game rustles by us, + The furtive world may whistle at the door, + We'll not go forth; we'll furlough here together-- + Close up! Close up! 'Tis comrades evermore! + + And Captains, our dear Captains, standing steady, + Aged with battle, but ever young with love, + Tramping the zones round, high have we hung your virtues, + Like shields along the wall of life, like armaments above: + + Like shields your love, our Captains, like armaments your + virtues, + No rebel lives among us, we are yours; + The old command still holds us, the old flag is our one flag, + We answer to a watchword that endures! + + Close up, close up, my brothers! Lift your glasses, + Drink to our Captains, pledging ere we roam, + Far from the good land, the dear familiar faces, + The love of the old regiment at home! + + + + + + + W. E. H. + + "Henley is dead!" Ah, but the sound and the sight of him, + Buoyant, commanding, and strong, suffering, noble in mind! + Gone, and no more shall we have any discourse or delight of him, + Wearing his pain like a song, casting his troubles behind. + + Gallant and fair! Feeling the soul and the ruth of things, + Probing the wounds of the world, healing he brought and surcease-- + Laughter he gave, beauty to teach us the truth of things, + Music to march to the fight, ballads for hours of peace. + + Now it is done! Fearless the soul of him strove for us, + Viking in blood and in soul, baring his face to the rain, + Facing the storm he fared on, singing for England and love of us, + On to the last corral where now he lies beaten and slain. + + Beaten and slain! Yes, but England hath heed of him, + Singer of high degree, master of thought and of word-- + She shall bear witness with tears, of the pride and the + loss and the need of him; + We shall measure the years by the voice and the song unheard. + + + + + + + WHEN BLOWS THE WIND + + When blows the wind and drives the sleet, + And all the trees droop down; + When all the world is sad, 'tis meet + Good company be known: + And, in my heart, good company + Sits by the fire and sings to me. + + When warriors return, and one + That went returns no more; + When dusty is the road we run, + And garners have no store; + One ingle-nook right warm shall be + Where my heart hath good company. + + When man shall flee and woman fail, + And folly mock and hope deceive, + Let cowards beat the breast and wail, + I'll homeward hie; I will not grieve: + I'll curtains draw, I'll there set free + My heart's beloved boon company. + + When kings shall favour, ladies call + My service to their side; + When roses grow upon the wall + Of life, and love inside; + I'll get me home with joy to be + In my heart's own good company! + + + + + + +EMBERS + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 2. + + +CONTENTS: + +DOLLY +LIFE'S SWEET WAGES +TO THE VALLEY +THE LILY FLOWER +LOVE IN HER COLD GRAVE LIES +GRANADA, GRANADA +THE NEW APHRODITE +AN ANCIENT PLEDGE +THE TRIBUTE OF KING HATH +THERE IS AN ORCHARD +HEART OF THE WORLD +EPITAPHS +THE BEGGAR +THE MAID +THE FOOL +THE FIGHTER +THE SEA-REAPERS +THE WATCHER +THE WAKING +WHEN ONE FORGETS +ALOES AND MYRRH +IN WASTE PLACES +LAST OF ALL +AFTER +REMEDIAL +THE TWILIGHT OF LOVE +IRREVOCABLE +THE LAST DREAM +WAITING +IN MAYTIME +INSIDE THE BAR +THE CHILDREN +LITTLE GARAINE +TO A LITTLE CHILD + + + + + DOLLY + + King Rufus he did hunt the deer, + With a hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly! + It was the spring-time of the year-- + Hey ho, Dolly shut her eyes! + King Rufus was a bully boy, + He hunted all the day for joy, + Sweet Dolly she was ever coy: + And who would e'er be wise + That looked in Dolly's eyes? + + King Rufus he did have his day, + With a hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly! + So get ye forth where dun deer play-- + Hey ho, Dolly comes again! + The greenwood is the place for me, + For that is where the dun deer be, + And who would stay at home, + That might with Dolly roam? + Sing hey ho, come and kiss me, Dolly! + + + + + + + LIFE'S SWEET WAGES + + Who would lie down and close his eyes + While yet the lark sings o'er the dale? + Who would to Love make no replies, + Nor drink the nut-brown ale, + While throbs the pulse, and full's the purse + And all the world's for sale? + + Though wintry blasts may prove unkind, + When winter's past we do forget; + Love's breast in summer-time is kind, + And all's well while life's with us yet. + Hey ho, now the lark is mating-- + Life's sweet wages are in waiting! + + + + + + + TO THE VALLEY + + Come hither, oh come hither, + There's a bride upon her bed; + They have strewn her o'er with roses, + There are roses 'neath her head: + Life is love and tears and laughter, + But the laughter it is dead-- + Sing the way to the Valley, to the Valley- + Hey, but the roses they are red! + + + + + + + THE LILY FLOWER + Oh, love, it is a lily flower, + (Sing, my captain, sing, my lady!) + The sword shall cleave it, Life shall leave it-- + Who shall know the hour? + (Sing, my lady, still!) + + + + + + + LOVE IN HER COLD GRAVE LIES + + Love in her cold grave lies, + But that is not my love: + My love hath constant eyes, + My love her life doth prove; + That love, the poorer, dies-- + Ah, that is not my love! + + Love in her cold grave lies, + But she will wake again; + With trembling feet will rise, + Will call this love in vain, + That she doth now despise + Ah, love shall wake again! + + + + + + + GRANADA, GRANADA + + Granada, Granada, thy gardens are gay, + And bright are thy stars, the high stars above; + But as flowers that fade and are grey, + But as dusk at the end of the day + Are ye to the light in the eyes of my love-- + In the eyes, in the soul, of my love. + + Granada, Granada, oh, when shall I see + My love in thy garden, there waiting for me! + Beloved, beloved, have pity and make + Not the sun shut its eyes, its hot envious eyes; + And the world in the darkness of night, + Be debtor to thee for its light. + Turn thy face, turn thy face from the skies + To the love, to the pain in my eyes. + + Granada, Granada, oh, when shall I see + My love in thy garden, there waiting for me! + + + + + + + THE NEW APHRODITE + + What though the gods of the eld be dead, + Here are the mountains of azure and snow, + Here are the valleys where loves are wed, + And lilies in blow. + + Here are the hands that are lucid, sweet, + Wound at the wrist with an amber beading, + Folds of the seafoam to cover the feet, + Mortals misleading. + + Down to the opaline lips of the sea + Wander the lost ones, fallen but mighty, + Stretching out hands, crying, "Turn unto me, + O Aphrodite!" + + See where they lift up their faces and scan, + Over the wave-heaps, thy coming; despite thee, + Thou canst not fetter the soul of a man, + O Aphrodite! + + Nay, but our bodies we bend, and we give + All that the heart hath, loving, not knowing + Whether the best is to die or to live, + Coming or going. + + We shall be taken, but thou shalt live on, + Swallowed in sea-drifts that never affright thee; + Smiling, thou'lt lift up thy sweet hands alone, + Ah, Aphrodite! + + Over thy face is a veil of white sea-mist, + Only thine eyes shine like stars; bless or blight me, + I will hold close to the leash at thy wrist, + O Aphrodite! + + Rosy and proud are the skies of the East, + Love-dowered moons to enswathe thee, delight thee: + Thy days and our days--are thine then the least, + O Aphrodite? + + Thou in the East and I here in the West, + Under our newer skies purple and pleasant: + Who shall decide which is better, attest, + Saga or peasant? + + Thou with Serapis, Osiris, and Isis, + I with Jehovah, in vapours and shadows; + Thou with the gods' joy-enhancing devices, + Sweet-smelling meadows. + + What is there given us?--Food and some raiment, + Toiling to reach to a Patmian haven, + Giving up all for uncertain repayment, + Feeding the raven. + + Striving to peer through the infinite azure, + Alternate turning to earthward and falling, + Measuring life with Damastian measure, + Finite, appalling. + + What does it matter! They passed who with Homer + Poured out the wine at the feet of their idols: + Passing, what found they? To-come a misnomer, + It and their idols? + + Who knows, ah, who knows! Here in this garden, + Heliotrope, hyacinth, soft suns to light me, + Leaning out, peering, thou, thou art my warden- + Thou, Aphrodite! + + Up from the future of all things there come, + Marching abreast in their stately endeavour, + Races unborn, to the beat of the drum, + Of the Forever. + + Resting not, beating down all the old traces, + Falls the light step of the new-coming nations, + Burning on altars of our loved graces, + Their new oblations. + + What shall we know of it, we who have lifted + Up the dark veil, done sowing and reaping; + What shall we care if our burdens be shifted, + Waking or sleeping? + + Sacristan, acolyte, player or preacher, + Each to his office, but who holds the key? + Death, only death, thou, the ultimate teacher, + Will show it to me. + + I am, Thou art, and the strong-speaking Jesus, + One in the end of an infinite truth?-- + Eyes of a prophet or sphinx may deceive us, + Bearing us ruth, + + But when the forts and the barriers fall, + Shall we not find One, the true, the almighty, + Wisely to speak with the worst of us all, + O Aphrodite? + + Waiting, I turn from the futile, the human, + Gone is the life of me, laughing with youth; + Steals to learn all in the face of a woman, + Mendicant Truth. + + + + + + + + AN ANCIENT PLEDGE + + Fair be the garden where their loves may dwell, + Safe be the highway where their feet may go; + Rich be the meadows where their hands may toil, + The fountains many where the good wines flow; + Full be their harvest bins with corn and oil, + And quick their hearts all wise delights to know; + To sorrow may their humour be a foil, + Tardy their footsteps to the gate Farewell. + Deep be your cups. Our hearts the gods make light: + Drink, that their joy may never know good-night! + + + + + + + THE TRIBUTE OF KING HATH + + Oh, bring to me a cup of gold, + And bring a platter fair, + And summon forth my Captain old, + Who keeps the royal stair. + + And fetch a stoup of that rare wine + That hailed my father's fame; + And bear some white bread from the shrine + Built to my mother's name. + + Then, good my gentlemen, bring down + My robe of soft samite; + And let the royal horn be blown, + For we ride far to-night. + + Within the pleasant Vale of Loe + Beside the Sea of Var, + The Daughter of our ancient foe + Dwells where her people are. + + Tribute her fathers paid to mine-- + Young prince to elder crown; + But for a jest 'twixt bread and wine, + They struck our banner down. + + And we had foes from Blymar Hills, + From Gathan and Dagost, + And pirates from Bagol that spills + Its refuse on our coast. + + And we were girded South and North; + And there beyond the Var, + They drove our goodly fighters forth, + And dimmed our ancient star. + + Now they have passed us, home for home, + And matched us town for town; + Their daughters to our sons now come-- + Our feud it weareth down. + + Between their cups, the hill-men cry, + "The Lady of the Loe!" + The sea-kings swing their flags peak-high + Where'er her galleons go. + + Once when the forge of battle sang + 'Tween Varan and Thogeel; + And when ten thousand stirrups rang + 'Twixt girth and bloody heel, + + I saw her ride 'mid mirk and fire, + Unfearing din and death, + Her eyes upflaming like a pyre, + Her fearless smile beneath. + + Nor'land 'gainst Southland then she drove, + A million serfs to free; + The reeking shuttle lifeward wove, + Through death from land to sea. + + And perched upon the Hill of Zoom, + My gentlemen beside, + I saw the weft shake in the loom, + The revel blazon wide, + + Until a thousand companies-- + Serf-lords from out Thogeel + Their broadswords brake across their knees, + Good captives to her steel. + + And then I sware by name and crown, + And by the Holy Ghost, + When Peace should ride with pennon blown, + From Gathan to Dagost, + + Unto her kingdom I should get, + And come not back again, + Until a queen's hand I had set + Upon my bridle rein. + + Our ships now nestle at Her coast, + Her corn our garner fills; + And all is quiet at Dagost, + And on the Blymar Hills. + + And I will do a deed to bind + An ancient love once more; + My gentlemen shall ride behind, + My Captain on before; + + And we will journey forth to-night + Towards the Sea of Var, + Until the vale shall come in sight, + Where Her great cities are. + + And to the Daughter of that land, + Which once was kin to mine, + My Captain, he shall bear in hand + This sacred bread and wine. + + And he shall show her soft and fair + This peace-spread sacrament: + Her banner it shall ride the air + Upon my Captain's tent. + + And if the wine to lip she raise, + With morsel of my bread; + Then as we loved in ancient days, + These lands of ours shall wed. + + But mine the tribute. I will bring + My homage to her door, + My gentlemen behind their king, + My Captain on before. + + And we aslant will set our spears, + Our good swords dipping free; + And we will ravel back the years + For love of her and me. + + And I will prove my faith in this + As never king was proved-- + For kings may fight for what they kiss, + And die for what they loved! + + But I will bring my court afar, + My throne to hers shall go; + And I will reign beside the Var, + And in the Vale of Loe. + + The younger kingdom, it shall be + The keeper of my crown; + And she, my queen, shall reign with me + Within her own good town. + + And men shall speak me kind, shall tell + Her graces day and night + So bring my steed that serves me well, + My robe of soft samite, + + And bring me here the cup of gold, + And bring the platter fair, + And summon me my Captain old, + That keeps the royal stair. + + For well know I the way I go; + I follow but my star: + My home is in the Vale of Loe, + And by the Sea of Var. + + + + + + + THERE IS AN ORCHARD + + There is an orchard beyond the sea, + And high is the orchard wall; + And ripe is the fruit in the orchard tree-- + Oh, my love is fair and tall! + + There is an orchard beyond the sea, + And joy to its haven hies; + And a white hand opens its gate to me-- + Oh, deep are my true love's eyes! + + There is an orchard beyond the sea, + Its flowers the brown bee sips; + But the stateliest flower is all for me-- + Oh, sweet are my true love's lips! + + There is an orchard beyond the sea, + Where the soft delights do roam; + To the Great Delight I have bent my knee-- + Oh, good is my true love's home! + + There is an orchard beyond the sea, + With a nest where the linnets hide; + Oh, warm is the nest that is built for me- + In my true love's heart I bide! + + + + + + + HEART OF THE WORLD + + Heart of the World give heed, + Tongues of the World be still! + The richest grapes of the vine shall bleed + Till the greeting-cup shall spill; + The kine shall pause in the pleasant mead, + The eagle upon the hill-- + Heart of the World give heed! + + Heart of the World break forth, + Tongues of the World proclaim! + There cometh a voice from out the North + And a face of living flame-- + A man's soul crying, Behold what worth + Was life till her sweet soul came-- + Heart of the World break forth! + + Heart of the World be strong, + Tongues of the World be wise! + The White North glows with a morning song + Or ever the red sun dies; + For Love is summer and Love is long, + And the good God 's in his skies-- + Heart of the World be strong! + + + + + + + EPITAPHS + + + THE BEGGAR + + Poor as a sparrow was I, + But I was saved like a king; + I heard the death-bells ring, + Yet I saw a light in the sky: + And now to my Father I wing. + + + + THE MAID + + A little while I saw the world go by-- + A little doorway that I called my own, + A loaf, a cup of water, and a bed had I, + A shrine of Jesus, where I knelt alone + And now, alone, I bid the world good-bye. + + + + THE FOOL + I was a fool; nothing had I to know + Of men, and naught to men had I to give. + God gave me nothing; now to God I go, + Now ask for pain, for bread, + Life for my brain: dead, + By God's love I shall then begin to live. + + + + THE FIGHTER + Blows I have struck, and blows a-many taken, + Wrestling I've fallen, and I've rose up again; + Mostly I've stood-- + I've had good bone and blood; + Others went down though fighting might and main. + Now Death steps in, + Death the price of sin: + The fall it will be his; and though I strive and strain, + One blow will close my eyes, and I shall never waken. + + + + + + + THE SEA-REAPERS + + When the Four Winds, the Wrestlers, strive with the Sun, + When the Sun is slain in the dark; + When the stars burn out, and the night cries + To the blind sea-reapers, and they rise, + And the water-ways are stark-- + God save us when the reapers reap! + When the ships sweep in with the tide to the shore, + And the little white boats return no more; + When the reapers reap, + Lord, give Thy sailors sleep, + If Thou cast us not upon the shore, + To bless Thee evermore + To walk in Thy sight as heretofore, + Though the way of the Lord be steep! + By Thy grace, + Show Thy face, + Lord of the land and the deep! + + + + + THE WATCHER + + As the wave to the shore, as the dew to the leaf, + As the breeze to the flower, + As the scent of a rose to the heart of a child, + As the rain to the dusty land-- + My heart goeth out unto Thee--unto Thee! + The night is far spent and the day is at hand. + + As the song of a bird to the call of a star, + As the sun to the eye, + As the anvil of man to the hammers of God, + As the snow to the earth-- + Is my word unto Thy word--to Thy word! + The night is far spent and the day is at hand + + + + + + + THE WAKING + + To be young is to dream, and I dreamed no more; + I had smothered my heart as the fighter can: + I toiled, and I looked not behind or before-- + I was stone; but I waked with the heart of a man. + + By the soul at her lips, by the light of her eyes, + I dreamed a new dream as the sleeper can, + That the heavenly folly of youth was wise-- + I was stone; but I waked with the heart of a man. + + She came like a song, she will go like a star: + I shall tread the hills as the hunter can, + Mine eyes to the hunt, and my soul afar- + I was stone; but I waked with the heart of a man. + + + + + + + WHEN ONE FORGETS + + When one forgets, the old things are as dead things; + The grey leaves fall, and eyes that saw their May + Turn from them now, and voices that have said things + Wherein Life joyed, alas! are still to-day-- + When one forgets. + + The world was noble, now its sordid casement + Glows but with garish folly, and the plains + Of rich achievement lie in mean abasement-- + Ah, Hope is only midwife to our pains! + + When one forgets, but maimed rites come after: + To mourn, be priest, be sexton, bear the pall, + Remembrance-robed, the while a distant laughter + Proclaims Love's ghost--what wonder skies should fall, + When one forgets! + + + + + + + ALOES AND MYRRH + + Dead, with the dew on your brow, + Dead, with the may in your face, + Dead: and here, true to my vow, + I, who have won in the race, + Weave you a chaplet of song + Wet with the spray and the rime + Blown from your love that was strong-- + Stronger than Time. + + August it was, and the sun + Streamed through the pines of the west; + There were two then--there is one; + Flown is the bird from the nest; + And it is August again, + But, from this uttermost sea, + Rises the mist of my pain-- + You are set free. + + "Tell him I see the tall pines, + Out through the door as I lie-- + Red where the setting sun shines-- + Waving their hands in good-bye; + Tell him I hold to my breast, + Dying, the flowers he gave; + Glad as I go I shall rest + Well in my grave." + + This is the message they send, + Warm with your ultimate breath; + Saying, "And this is the end; + She is the bride but of death." + Is death the worst of all things? + What but a bursting of bands, + Then to the First of All Things + Stretching out hands! + + Under the grass and the snow + You will sleep well till I come; + And you will feel me, I know, + Though you are motionless, dumb. + I shall speak low overhead-- + You were so eager to hear-- + And even though you are dead, + You will be near. + + Dead, with the dew on your brow, + Dead, with the May in your face, + Dead: and here, true to my vow, + I, who have won in the race, + Weave you a chaplet of song + Wet with the spray and the rime + Blown from your love that was strong-- + Stronger than Time. + + + + + + + IN WASTE PLACES + + The new life is fief to the old life, + And giveth back pangs at the last; + The new strife is like to the old strife + A token and tear of the Past. + We change, but the changes are only + New forms of the old forms again, + We die and some spaces are lonely, + But men live in lives of new men. + + We hate, and old wrongs lift their faces, + To fill up the ranks of the new; + We love, and the early love's graces + Are signs of the false and the true; + We clasp the white hands that are given + To greet us in devious ways, + But meet the old sins, all unshriven, + To sadden the burden of days. + + Though we lose the green leaves of the first days, + Though the vineyards be trampled and red, + We know, in the gloom of our worst days, + That the dead are not evermore dead: + December is only December, + A space, not the infinite whole; + Though the hearthstone bear but the one ember, + There still is the fire of the soul. + + The end comes as came the beginning, + And shadows fail into the past; + And the goal, is it not worth the winning, + If it brings us but home at the last? + While over the pain of waste places + We tread, 'tis a blossoming rod + That drives us to grace from disgraces, + From the plains to the Gardens of God. + + + + + + + LAST OF ALL + + Wave, walls to seaward, + Storm-clouds to leeward, + Beaten and blown by the winds of the West, + Sail we encumbered + Past isles unnumbered, + But never to greet the green island of Rest. + + Lips that now tremble, + Do you dissemble + When you deny that the human is best? + Love, the evangel, + Finds the Archangel-- + Is that a truth when this may be a jest? + + Star-drifts that glimmer + Dimmer and dimmer, + What do ye know of my weal or my woe? + Was I born under + The sun or the thunder? + What do I come from, and where do I go? + + Rest, shall it ever + Come? Is endeavour + Still a vain twining and twisting of cords? + Is faith but treason; + Reason, unreason, + But a mechanical weaving of words? + + What is the token, + Ever unbroken, + Swept down the spaces of querulous years,-- + Weeping or singing-- + That the Beginning + Of all things is with us, and sees us, and hears? + + What is the token? + Bruised and broken, + Bend I my life to a blossoming rod? + Shall then the worst things + Come to the first things, + Finding the best of all, last of all, God? + + + + + + + AFTER + + Bands broken, cords loosened, and all + Set free. Well, I know + That I turned my cold face to the wall, + Was silent, strove, gasped, then there fell + A numbness, a faintness, a spell + Of blindness, hung as a pall, + On me, falling low, + And a far fading sound of a knell. + + Then a fierce stretching of hands + In gloom; and my feet, + Treading tremulous over hard sands; + A wind that wailed wearily slow, + A plashing of waters below, + A twilight on bleak lone lands, + Spread out; and a sheet + Of the moaning sea shallows aflow. + + Then a steep highway that leads + Somewhere, cold, austere; + And I follow a shadow that heeds + My coming, and points, not in wrath, + Out over: we tread the sere path + Up to the summit; recedes + All gloom; and at last + The beauty a flower-land hath. + + + + + + + REMEDIAL + + Well it has come and has gone, + I have some pride, you the same; + You will scarce put willow on, + I will have buried a name. + + A stone, "Hic Jacet"--no more; + Let the world wonder at will; + You have the key to the door, + I have the cenotaph still. + + A tear--one tear, is it much, + Dropped on a desert of pain? + Had you one passionate touch + Of Nature there had been rain. + + Purpose, oh no, there was none! + You could not know if you would; + You were the innocent one. + Malice? Nay, you were too good. + + Hearts should not be in your way, + You must pass on, and you did; + Ah, did I hurt you? you say: + Hurt me? Why, Heaven forbid! + + Inquisitorial ways + Might have hurt, truly, but this, + Done in these wise latter days, + It was too sudden, I wis. + + "Painless and pleasing," this is + No bad advertisement, true; + Painless extinction was his, + And it was pleasing-to you. + + Still, when the surgery's done + (That is the technical term), + Which has lost most, which has won? + Rise now, and truly affirm. + + You carry still what we call + (Poets are dreamy we know) + A heart, well, 'tis yours after all, + And time hath its wonders, I trow. + + You may look back with your eyes + Turned to the dead of the Past, + And find with a sad surprise, + That yours is the dead at the last. + + Seeing afar in the sands, + Gardens grown green, at what cost! + You may reach upward your hands, + Praying for what you have lost. + + + + + + + THE TWILIGHT OF LOVE + + Adieu! and the sun goes awearily down, + The mist creeps up o'er the sleepy town, + The white sails bend to the shuddering mere, + And the reapers have reaped, and the night is here. + + Adieu! and the years are a broken song, + The right grows weak in the strife with wrong, + The lilies of love have a crimson stain, + And the old days never will come again. + + Adieu! where the mountains afar are dim + 'Neath the tremulous tread of the seraphim, + Shall not our querulous hearts prevail, + That have prayed for the peace of the Holy Grail? + + Adieu! Some time shall the veil between + The things that are, and that might have been + Be folded back for our eyes to see, + And the meaning of all be clear to me. + + + + + + + IRREVOCABLE + + What you have done may never be undone + By day or night, + What I have seen may never be unseen + In my sad sight. + + The days swing on, the sun glows and is gone, + From span to span; + The tides sweep scornfully the shore, as when + The tides began. + + What we have known is but a bitter pledge + Of Ignorance, + The human tribute to an ageless dream, + A timeless trance. + + Through what great cycles hath this circumstance + Swept on and on, + Known not by thee or me, till it should come, + A vision wan, + + To our two lives, and yours would seem to me + The hand that kills, + Though you have wept to strike, and but have cried, + "The mad Fate wills!" + + You could not, if you would, give what had been + Peace, not distress; + Some warping cords of destiny had held + You in duress. + + Nay, not the Fates, look higher; is God blind? + Doth He not well? + Our eyes see but a little space behind, + If it befell, + + That they saw but a little space before, + Shall we then say, + Unkind is the Eternal, if He knew + This from alway, + + And called us into being but to give + To mother Earth + Two blasted lives, to make the watered land + A place of dearth? + + The life that feeds upon itself is mad-- + Is it not thus? + Have I not held but one poor broken reed + For both of us? + + Keep but your place and simply meet + The needs of life; + Mine is the sorrow, mine the prayerless pain: + The world is rife + + With spectres seen and spectres all unseen + By human eyes, + Who stand upon the threshold, at the gates, + Of Paradise. + + Well do they who have felt the spectres' hands + Upon their hearts, + And have not fled, but with firm faith have borne + Their brothers' parts, + + Upheld the weary head, or fanned the brow + Of some sick soul, + Pointed the way for tired pilgrim eyes + To their far goal. + + So let it be with us: perchance will come + In after days, + The benison of happiness for us + Always, always. + + + + + + + THE LAST DREAM + + One more dream in the slow night watches, + One more sleep when the world is dumb, + And his soul leans out to the sweet wild snatches + Of song that up from dreamland come. + + Pale, pale face with a golden setting, + Deep, deep glow of stedfast eyes; + Form of one there is no forgetting, + Wandering out of Paradise. + + Breath of balm, and a languor falling + Out of the gleam of a sunset sky; + Peace, deep peace and a seraph's calling, + Folded hands and a pleading cry. + + One more dream for the patient singer, + Weary with songs he loved so well; + Sleeping now--will the vision bring her? + Hark, 'tis the sound of the passing bell! + + + + + + + WAITING + + When shall I see thee again? + Weary the years and so long; + When shall be buried the wrong, + Phantom-like rising between? + Seeking for surcease of pain, + Pilgrim to Lethe I came; + Drank not, for pride was too keen-- + Stung by the sound of a name. + + Soft, ardent skies of my youth + Come to me over the sea, + Come in a vision to me, + Come with your shimmer and song; + Ye have known all of the truth, + Witness to both shall ye bear; + Read me the riddle of wrong, + Solve me the cords of the snare. + + Love is not won in a breath, + Idle, impassioned and sure; + Why should not love then endure, + Challenging doubt to the last? + True love is true till the death, + Though it bear aloes and myrrh; + Try me and judge me, O Past, + Have I been true unto her? + + What should I say if we met, + Knowing not which should forbear? + E'en if I plead would she care?-- + Sweet is the refuge of scorn. + Close by my side, O Regret + Long we have watched for the light! + Watchman, what of the morn? + Well do we know of the night. + + + + + + + IN MAYTIME + + The apple blossoms glisten + Within the crowned trees; + The meadow grasses listen + The din of busy bees; + The wayward, woodland singer + Carols along the leas, + Not loth to be the bringer + Of summer fantasies. + + But you and I who never + Meet now but for regret, + Forever and forever, + Though flower-bonds were set + In Maytime, if you wonder + That falling leaves are ours, + Yours was it cast asunder, + Mine are the faded flowers. + + The fluted wren is sobbing + Beneath the mossy eaves; + The throstle's chord is throbbing + In coronal of leaves; + The home of love is lilies, + And rose-hearts, flaming red, + Red roses and white lilies-- + Lo, thus the gods were wed! + + But we weep on, unheeding + The earth's joys spread for us; + And ever, far receding, + Our fair land fades from us: + One waited, patient, broken, + High-hearted but opprest, + One lightly took the token-- + The mad Fates took the rest. + + High mountains and low valleys, + And shreds of silver seas, + The lone brook's sudden sallies, + And all the joys of these,-- + These were, but now the fire + Volcanic seeks the sea, + And dark wave walls retire + Tyrannic seeking me. + + Spirit of dreams, a vision + Well hast thou wrought for us; + Fold high the veil Elysian, + The past held naught for us; + Years, what are they but spaces + Set in a day for me? + Lo, here are lilied places-- + My love comes back to me! + + + + + + + INSIDE THE BAR + + I knows a town, an' it's a fine town, + And many a brig goes sailin' to its quay; + I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn, + An' a lass that's fair to see. + I knows a town, an' it's a fine town; + I knows an inn, an' it's a fine inn-- + But Oh my lass, an' Oh the gay gown, + Which I have seen my pretty in! + + I knows a port, an' it's a good port, + An' many a brig is ridin' easy there; + I knows a home, an' it's a good home, + An' a lass that's sweet an' fair. + I knows a port, an' it's a good port, + I knows a home, an' it's a good home-- + But Oh the pretty that is my sort, + What's wearyin' till I come! + + I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, + The day a sailor man comes back to town; + I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide, + The tide that gets you quick to anchors down. + I knows a day, an' it's a fine day, + I knows a tide, an' it's a good tide-- + And God help the lubber, I say, + What's stole the sailor man's bride! + + + + + + + THE CHILDREN + + Mark the faces of the children + Flooded with sweet innocence! + God's smile on their foreheads glisten + Ere their heart-strings have grown tense. + + And they know not of the sadness, + Of the palpitating pain + Drawn through arid veins of manhood, + Or the lusts that life disdain. + + Little reek they of the shadows + Fallen through the steep world's space + God hath touched them with His chrism + And their sunlight is His grace. + + And the green grooves of the meadows + They are fair to look upon; + And the silver thrush and robin + Sing most sweetly on and on. + + But the faces of the children- + They are fairer far than these; + And the songs they sing are sweeter + Than the thrushes' in the trees. + + Little hands, our God has given + All the flower-bloom for you; + Gather violets in the meadows, + Trailing your sweet fingers through. + + The swift tears that sometimes glisten + On their faces dashed with pain + Weave a rosy bow of promise, + Like the afterglow of rain. + + The soft, verdant fields of childhood, + Certes, are the softer for + The dissolving dew of morning, + Noon's elate ambassador. + + Looking skyward, do they wonder-- + They, the children palm to palm- + What is out beyond the azure + In the infinite of calm? + + Though they murmur soft "Our Father," + Angel wings to speed it on + Past the bright wheels of the Pleiads, + Have they thought of benison? + + Nay! the undefiled children + Say it bound by ignorance; + But the saying is the merit, + And the loving bans mischance. + + Oh the mountain heights of childhood, + And the waterfalls of dreams, + And the sleeping in the shadows + Of the willows by the streams! + + Toss your gleaming hair, O children, + Back in waving of the wind! + Flash the starlight 'heath your eyelids + From the sunlight of the mind! + + See, we strain you to our bosoms, + And we kiss your lip and brow; + Human hearts must have some idols, + And we shrine you idols now. + + Time, the ruthless idol-breaker, + Smileless, cold iconoclast, + Though he rob us of our altars, + Cannot rob us of the past. + + Dull and dead the gods' bright nectar, + Disencrowned of its foam; + Duller, deader far the empty, + Barren hearthstone of a home. + + Smile out to our age and give us, + Children, of the dawn's desire; + We have passed morn's gold and opal, + We have lost life's early fire. + + + + + + + LITTLE GARAINE + + "Where do the stars grow, little Garaine? + The garden of moons, is it far away? + The orchard of suns, my little Garaine, + Will you take us there some day?" + + "If you shut your eyes," quoth little Garaine, + "I will show you the way to go + To the orchard of suns and the garden of moons + And the field where the stars do grow. + + "But you must speak soft," quoth little Garaine, + "And still must your footsteps be, + For a great bear prowls in the field of the stars, + And the moons they have men to see. + + "And the suns have the Children of Signs to guard, + And they have no pity at all-- + You must not stumble, you must not speak, + When you come to the orchard wall. + + "The gates are locked," quoth little Garaine, + "But the way I am going to tell-- + The key of your heart it will open them all: + And there's where the darlings dwell!" + + + + + + + TO A LITTLE CHILD + + (M. H.) + + When you were born, my dear, when you were born, + A glorious Voice came singing from the sun, + An Ariel with roses of the morn, + And through the vales of Arcady danced one + All golden as the corn. + + These were the happy couriers of God, + Bearing your gifts: a magic all your own, + And Beauty with her tall divining rod; + While tiny star-smiths, bending to your throne, + Your feet with summer shod. + + Into my heart, my dear, you flashed your way, + Your rosy, golden way: a fairy horn + Proclaimed you dancing light and roundelay;-- + I thank my generous Fates that you were born + One lofty joyous day. + + + + + + + L'EMPEREUR, MORT + + (M. H., AGED FIVE) + + My dear, I was thy lover, + A man of spring-time years; + I sang thee songs, gave gifts and songs most poor, + But they were signs; and now, for evermore, + Thou farest forth! My heart is full of tears, + My dear, my very dear. + + My dear, I was thy lover, + I wrote thee on my shield, + I cried thy name in goodly fealty, + Thy champion I. And now, no more for me + Thy face, thy smile: thou goest far afield, + My dear, my very dear. + + My dear, I am thy lover: + Afield thy spirit goes, + And thou shalt find that Inn of God's delight, + Where thou wilt wait for us who say good night, + To thy sweet soul. The rest--the rest, God knows, + My dear, my dear! + + + + + + + PHYLLIS + + Phyllis, I knew you once when I was young, + And travelled to your land of Arcady. + Do you, of all the songs, wild songs, before you flung, + Remember mine--its buoyant melody, + Its hope, its pride; do you remember it? + It was the song that makes the world go round; + I bought it of a Boy: in scars I paid for it, + Phyllis, to you who jested at my wound. + + + + + + + BAIRNIE + + Did ye see the white cloud in the glint o' the sun? + That's the brow and the eye o' my bairnie. + Did ye ken the red bloom at the bend o' the crag? + That's the rose in the cheek o' my bairnie. + Did ye hear the gay lilt o' the lark by the burn? + That's the voice of my bairnie, my dearie. + Did ye smell the wild scent in the green o' the wood? + That's the breath o' my ain, o' my bairnie. + Sae I'll gang awa' hame, to the shine o' the fire, + To the cot where I lie wi' my bairnie. + + + + + + +EMBERS + +By Gilbert Parker + +Volume 3. + + +CONTENTS + +IN CAMDEN TOWN +JEAN +A MEMORY +IN CAMP AT JUNIPER COVE +JUNIPER COVE TWENTY YEARS AFTER +LISTENING +NEVERTHELESS +ISHMAEL +OVER THE HILLS +THE DELIVERER +THE DESERT ROAD +A SON OF THE NILE +A FAREWELL FROM THE HAREM +AN ARAB LOVE SONG +THE CAMEL-DRIVER TO HIS CAMEL +THE TALL DABOON +THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA +THE AUSTRALIAN STOCBRIDER +THE BRIDGE OF THE HUNDRED SPANS +NELL LATORE + + + + + + IN CAMDEN TOWN + + How many years of sun and snow + Have come to Camden Town, + Since through its streets and in its shade, + I wandered up and down. + + Not many more than to you here + These verses hapless flung, + Yet of the Long Ago they seem + To me who am yet young. + + We strive to measure life by Time, + And con the seasons o'er, + To find, alas! that days are years, + And years for evermore. + + The joys that thrill, the ill that thralls, + Pressed down on heart and brain- + These are the only horologues, + The Age's loss or gain. + + And I am old in all of these, + And wonder if I know + The man begotten of the boy, + Who loved that long ago. + + A lilac bush close to the gate, + A locust at the door, + A low, wide window flower-filled, + With ivy covered o'er. + + A face--O love of childhood dreams, + Lily in form and name-- + It comes back now in these day-dreams, + The same yet not the same. + + My childhood's friend! Well gathered are + The sheaves of many days, + But this one sheaf is garnered in, + Bound by my love always. + + Where have you wandered, child, since when + Together merrily, + We gathered cups of columbine + By lazy Rapanee? + + The green spears of the flagflower, + Down by the old mill-race, + Are weapons now for other hands, + Who mimic warfare chase. + + You were so tender, yet so strong, + So gentle, yet so free, + Your every word, whenever heard, + Seemed wondrous wise to me. + + You marvelled if the dead could hear + Our steps, that passed at will + Their low green houses in the elm- + Crowned churchyard on the hill. + + And I, whom your sweet childhood's trust, + Esteemed as most profound, + Thought that they heard, as in a dream, + The shadow of a sound. + + We drew the long, rank grass away + From tombstones mossy grown, + To read the verses crude and quaint, + And make the words our own. + + One tottering marble, willow-spread, + I well remember yet, + With only this engraved thereon, + "By Joseph to Jeanette." + + It held us wondering oft, as we + Peeped through the pickets old: + There was some mystery, we knew, + Some history untold. + + Well, better far those simple words, + Where weeping phrase is not, + Than burdened tablet, and the rest + Forgetting and forgot. + + And Lily Minden, do you lie + In some forgotten grave, + Where only strangers' feet pass o'er + Your temple's architrave? + + Or, by some hearthstone, have you learned + The worst and best of life, + And found sweet greetings in the name + Of mother and of wife? + + I cannot tell: I know you but + As bee the clover bloom, + That sips content, and straightway builds + Its mansion and its tomb. + + So took I in child-innocence, + So build the House of Life, + And in low tone to thee alone, + As dead or maid or wife, + + I sing this song, borne all along + A space of wasted breath; + And build me on from room to room + Unto the House of Death, + + Where portals swing forever in + To weary pilgrim guest, + And hearts that here were inly dear + Shall find a Room of Rest. + + + + + + + JEAN + + Three times round has the sun gone, Jean, + Since on your lips I pressed + Mute farewells; if that pain was keen + Fair were you in your nest. + + Smiling, sweetheart, I left you there; + You had no word to say; + One last touch to your brow and hair, + Then I went on my way. + + Time it was when the leaves were grown + Your rose-colour, my queen; + Ere the birds to the south had flown, + While yet the grass was green. + + Eyes demure, do you ever yearn, + Bird-wise to summer lands? + Is it to meet your look I turn, + Saying, "She understands," + + Saying, "She waits in her quiet place + Patient till I shall come, + The old sweet grace in her dreaming face + That made a Heav'n her home"? + + No! She is there 'neath Northern skies, + And no word does she send; + But near to my heart her image lies, + And shall lie there to the end. + + Come what will I am not bereft + Of the memory of that time, + When in her hands my heart I left + There, in a colder clime. + + And to my eyes no face is fair, + For one face comes between; + And if a song has a low sweet air, + Through it there whispers, "Jean." + + Better for me the world would say, + If I had broke the charm, + Set in the circle she one day + Made by her round white arm. + + Never a king in days of eld + Gathered about his throat + Such a circlet; no queen e'er held + Necklace so clear of mote. + + It sufficeth the charm was set; + And if it chance that one + Still remembers, though one forget, + Then is the worst thing done-- + + Done, and I still can say "Let be; + I have no word of blame; + Though her heart is no more for me, + Mine shall be still the same." + + I have my life to live and she-- + Well, if it be so--so; + She may welcome or banish me + And if I go, I go. + + Friend, I pray you repress those tears, + Comfort from this derive: + I am a score--and more-of years + And Jean is only five. + + + + + + + A MEMORY + + From buckwheat fields the summer sun + Drew honeyed breezes over + The lanes where happy children run + With bare feet in the clover. + + The schoolhouse stood with pines about + Upon the hill, and ever + A creek, where hid the speckled trout, + Ran past it to the river. + + And rosy faces gathered there, + With rustic good around them; + With breath of balm blown everywhere, + Pure, ere the world had found them. + + Behind sweet purple ambuscades + Of lilacs, laws were broken; + And here a desk with knives was frayed, + There passed forbidden token. + + One slipped a butternut between + His pearly teeth; a maiden + Dove-eyed, caressed her cheek; 'twas e'en + With maple sugar laden-- + + A flock that caught at wiles, because + The shepherd's hand that drove them, + Reached little toward wise human laws, + And less to God above them. + + With eyebrows bent and surly look + He only saw before him, + The rule, the lesson, and the book, + Not nature brooding o'er him. + + One day through drone of locusts fell + The wood-bird's fitful tapping, + And in his chair at "dinner-spell," + The teacher grim sat napping. + + An urchin creeping in beholds + The tyrant slumber-smitten, + And in his pocket's ample folds + He thrusts the school-yard kitten. + + At length the master waked, and clanged + His bell with anger fitting; + His sleep had made it double-fanged, + And crossed like needles knitting. + + Slow to their seats the children file, + And wait "Prepare for classes," + A score of lads across the aisle + From twice a score of lasses. + + But two within the throng betray + A mirth suppressed; the sinner, + And Rafe Ridall, the chief at play, + At books the easy winner: + + The wildest boy in all the school, + In mischief first and ever, + His daily seat the penance-stool, + Disgraced for weeks together. + + Just sound of bone and strong of heart, + Staunch friend and noble foeman; + In life to play the kingly part, + True both to man and woman. + + Joe's secret now he holds; a deed + With just enough of danger, + To win his--ah, what's that? 'Tis freed, + The pocket-prisoned stranger! + + A moment's riot laughter-filled, + Then fear, white-visaged, follows; + And through the silence there is trilled + The shrill note of the swallows. + + And now a fierce form fronts them all, + Two fierce eyes search their faces, + Then flash their fire on Rafe Ridall, + Whose mirth no peril chases. + + "You did it, sir!" "Not I!" "You did!" + "No!" "You've one chance for showing + Who in my coat the kitten hid, + Or be well thrashed for knowing." + + The master paused, the birch he grasped + Against his trousers flicking; + Rafe said, with hands behind him clasped, + "I'd rather take the licking." + + Full many a year has passed since then, + The lilacs still are blooming, + Awaiting childish hands again, + But they are long in coming. + + Now wandering swallows build their nests + Where doors and roofs decaying, + No more shut in the master's zest, + Nor out the children's playing. + + All, all are gone who gathered there; + Some toil among the masses, + Some, overworn with pain and care, + Wait Death's "Prepare for classes." + + And some--the sighing pines sway on + Above them, dreamless lying; + And 'mong them sleeps the master, gone + His anger and their crying. + + And Rafe Ridall, brave then, brave now, + Amid the jarring courses + Of man's misrule, still takes the blow + For those of weaker forces. + + + + + + + IN CAMP AT JUNIPER COVE + + A little brown sparrow came tripping + Across the green grass at my feet; + A kingfisher poised, and was peering + Where current and calm water meet; + + The clouds hung in passionless clusters + Above the green hills of the south; + A bobolink fluttered to leeward + With a twinkle of bells in its mouth. + + Ah, the morning was silver with glory + As I lay by my tent on the shore; + And the soft air was drunken with odours, + And my soul lifted up to adore. + + Is there wonder I took me to dreaming + Of the gardens of Greece and old Rome, + Of the fair watered meadows of Ida, + And the hills where the gods made their home? + + Of the Argonauts sung to by Sirens, + Of Andromache, Helen of Troy, + Of Proserpine, Iphigenia, + And the Fates that build up and destroy? + + Of the phantom isle, green Theresea, + And the Naiads and Dryads that give + To the soul of the poet, the dreamer, + The visions of fancy that live + + In the lives and the language of mortals + Unconscious, but sure as the sea, + And that make for great losses repayment + To wandering singers like me? + + But a little brown sparrow came tripping + Across the green grass at my feet; + And a kingfisher poised, and was peering + Where current and calm water meet; + + And Alice, sweet Alice, my neighbour, + Stands musing beneath the pine tree; + And her look says--"I have a lover + Who sails on the turbulent sea: + + Does he dream as I dream night and daytime + Of a face that is tender and true; + Will he come to me e'en as he left me?" + Yes, Alice, sweet Alice, for you, + + Is the sunlight, and not the drear shadow, + The gentle and fortunate peace: + But he who thus revels in rhyming + Has shadows that never shall cease. + + + + + + + JUNIPER COVE TWENTY YEARS AFTER + + The bay gleams softly in the sun, + The morning widens o'er the world: + The bluebird's song is just begun, + And down the skies white clouds are furled. + + The boat lies idly by the shore, + The shed I built with happy care + Is fallen; and I see no more + The white tents in the eager air. + + The goldenrod holds up its plumes + In the long stretch of meadow grass, + The briarrose shakes its sweet perfumes, + In coverts where the sparrows pass. + + Far off, above, the sapphire gleams, + Far off, below, the sapphire flows, + And this, my place of morning dreams, + The bank where my vain visions rose! + + Sweet Alice, he came back again, + Across the waste of summer sea, + What time the fields were full of grain, + But not to thee; but not to thee. + + She comes no more when evening falls, + To watch the stars wheel up the sky; + Then love and light were over all; + Alas! that light and love should die. + + I feel her hand upon my arm, + I see her eyes shine through the mist; + Her life was passionate and warm + As the red jewels at her wrist. + + Hearts do not break, the world has said, + Though love lie stark and light be flown; + But still it counts its lost and dead, + And in the solitudes makes moan. + + We school our lips to make our hearts + Seem other than in truth they are; + Before the lights we play our part, + And paint the flesh to hide the scar. + + Masquers and mummers all, and yet + The slaves of some dead passion's fires, + Of hopes the soul can ne'er forget + Still sobbing in life's trembling wires. + + Fate puts our dear desires in pawn, + Youth passes, unredeemed they lie; + The leaves drop from our rose of dawn, + And storms fall from the mocking sky. + + I shall come back no more; my ship + Waits for me by the sundering sea; + A prayer for her is on my lip-- + And the old life is dead to me. + + + + + + + LISTENING + +I have lain beneath the pine trees just to hear the thrush's calling, +I have waited for the throstle where the harvest fields were brown, +I have caught the lark's sweet trilling from the depths of cloud-land + falling +And the piping of the linnet through the willow branches blown. + +But you have some singing graces, you who sing because you love it, +That are higher than the throstle, or the linnet, or the lark; +And, however far my soul may reach, your song is far above it; +And I falter while I follow as a child does in the dark. + +In elder days, when all the world was silent save the beating +Of the tempest-gathered ocean 'gainst the grey volcanic walls, +When the light had met the darkness and the mountains sent their greeting +To each other in sharp flashes as the vivid lightning falls, + +Then the high gods said, "In token that we love the earth we fashioned, +We will set the white stars singing, and teach man the art of song": +And there rose up from the valleys sounds of love and life impassioned, +Till men cried, with arms uplifted, "Now from henceforth we are strong!" + +Adown the ages there have come the sounds of that first singing, +Lifting up the weary-hearted in the fever of the time; +And I, who wait and wander far, felt all my soul upspringing, +To but touch those ancient forces and the energies sublime, + +When I heard you who had heard it--that first song--perhaps in dreaming, +Till it filled you with fine fervour and the hopes of its refrain; +And I knew that God was gracious and had led me in the gleaming +Of a song-shine that is holy and that quiets all my pain. + +Though the birds sing in the meadows and fill all the air with sweetness, +They sing only in the present, and they sing because they must; +They are wanton in their pureness, and in all their fine completeness, +They trill out their lives forgotten to the silence of the dust. + +But if you should pass to-morrow where your songs could never reach us, +There would still be throbbing through us all the music of your voice; +And your spirit would speak through the chords, as though it would + beseech us +To remember that the noblest ends have ever noblest choice. + + + + + + + NEVERTHELESS + + In your onward march, O men, + White of face, in promise whiter, + You unsheathe the sword, and then + Blame the wronged as the fighter. + + Time, ah, Time, rolls onward o'er + All these foetid fields of evil, + While hard at the nation's core + Eat the burning rust and weevil! + + Nathless, out beyond the stars + Reigns the Wiser and the Stronger, + Seeing in all strifes and wars + Who the wronged, who the wronger. + + + + + + + ISHMAEL + + "No man cared for my soul." + + Blind, Lord, so blind! I wander far + From Thee among the haunts of men, + Most like some lone, faint, flickering star + Gone from its place, nor knoweth when + The sun shall give it shining dole + Lord! no man careth for my soul. + + Blind, Lord, so blind! In loneliness + By crowded mart or busy street, + I fold my hands and feel how less + Am I to any one I meet, + Than to Thee one lost billow's roll: + Lord! no man careth for my soul. + + Blind, Lord, so blind! And I have knelt + 'Mong myriads in Thy house of prayer; + And still sad desolation felt, + Though heavy freighted was the air + With litanies of love: one ghoul + Cried, "No man careth for thy soul!" + + Blind, Lord, so blind! The world is blind; + It feeds me, fainting, with a stone: + I cry for bread. Before, behind, + Are hurrying feet; yet all alone + I walk, and no one points the goal + Lord! no man careth for my soul. + + Blind, Lord, Oh very blind am I! + If sin of mine sets up the wall + Between my poor sight and Thy sky, + O Friend of man, Who cares for all, + Send sweet peace ere the last bell toll-- + Yea, Lord, Thou carest for my soul! + + + + + + + OVER THE HILLS + + Over the hills they are waiting to greet us, + They who have scanned all the ultimate places, + Fathomed the world and the things that defeat us-- + Evils and graces. + + They have no thought for the toiling or spinning, + Striving for bread that is dust in the gaining, + They have won all that is well worth the winning-- + Past all distaining. + + Now they have done with the pain and the error, + Nevermore here shall the dark things assail them, + Void man's devices and dreams have no terror-- + Shall we bewail them? + + They have cast off all the strife and derision, + They have put on all the joy of our yearning; + We falter feebly from vision to vision, + Never discerning. + + Faint light before us, and shadows to grope in, + Stretching out hands to the starbeams to guide us, + Finding no place but our life's loves to hope in, + Doubt to deride us-- + + So we climb upward with eyes growing dimmer, + Looking back only to sigh through our smiling, + Wondering still if the palpitant glimmer + Leads past defiling. + + They whom we loved have gone over the mountains, + Hands beckon to us like wings of the swallow, + Voices we knew from delectable fountains + Cry to us, "Follow!" + + Some were so young when they left us, that morning + Seemed to have flashed and then died into gloaming, + Leaving us wearier 'neath the world's scorning, + Blinder in roaming. + + Some, in the time when the manhood is bravest, + Strongest to bear and the hands to endeavour, + When all the life is the firmest and gravest, + Left us for ever. + + Some, when the Springtime had grown to December, + Said, "It is done: now the last thing befall me; + I shall sleep well--ah! dear hearts but remember: + Farewell, they call me!" + + So the tale runs, and the end, who shall fear it? + Is it not better to sleep than to sorrow? + Tokens will come from the bourne as we near it-- + Time's peace, to-morrow. + + + + + + + THE DELIVERER + + How has the cloud fallen, and the leaf withered on the tree, + The lemontree, that standeth by the door? + The melon and the date have gone bitter to the taste, + The weevil, it has eaten at the core-- + The core of my heart, the mildew findeth it; + My music, it is but the drip of tears, + The garner empty standeth, the oven hath no fire, + Night filleth me with fears. + O Nile that floweth deeply, hast thou not heard his voice? + His footsteps hast thou covered with thy flood? + He was as one who lifteth up the yoke, + He was as one who taketh off the chain, + As one who sheltereth from the rain, + As one who scattereth bread to the pigeons flying. + His purse was at his side, his mantle was for me, + For any who passeth were his mantle and his purse, + And now like a gourd is he withered from our eyes. + His friendship, it was like a shady wood-- + Whither has he gone?--Who shall speak for us? + Who shall save us from the kourbash and the stripes? + Who shall proclaim us in the palace? + Who shall contend for us in the gate? + The sakkia turneth no more; the oxen they are gone; + The young go forth in chains, the old waken in the night, + They waken and weep, for the wheel turns backward, + And the dark days are come again upon us-- + Will he return no more? + His friendship was like a shady wood, + O Nile that floweth deeply, hast thou not heard his voice? + Hast thou covered up his footsteps with thy flood? + The core of my heart, the mildew findeth it! + When his footsteps were among us there was peace; + War entered not the village, nor the call of war: + Now our homes are as those that have no roofs. + As a nest decayed, as a cave forsaken, + As a ship that lieth broken on the beach, + Is the house where we were born. + Out in the desert did we bury our gold, + We buried it where no man robbed us, for his arm was strong. + Now are the jars empty, gold did not avail + To save our young men, to keep them from the chains. + God hath swallowed his voice, or the sea hath drowned it, + Or the Nile hath covered him with its flood; + Else would he come when our voices call. + His word was honey in the prince's ear-- + Will he return no more? + + + + + + + THE DESERT ROAD + + In the sands I lived in a hut of palm, + There was never a garden to see; + There was never a path through the desert calm, + Nor a way through its storms for me. + + Tenant was I of a lone domain; + The far pale caravans wound + To the rim of the sky, and vanished again; + My call in the waste was drowned. + + The vultures came and hovered and fled; + And once there stole to my door + A white gazelle, but its eyes were dread + With the hurt of the wounds it bore. + + It passed in the dusk with a foot of fear, + And the white cold mists rolled in; + And my heart was the heart of a stricken deer, + Of a soul in the snare of sin. + + My days they withered like rootless things, + And the sands rolled on, rolled wide; + Like a pelican I, with broken wings, + Like a drifting barque on the tide. + + But at last, in the light of a rose-red day, + In the windless glow of the morn, + From over the hills and from far away, + You came-ah, the joy of the morn! + + And wherever your footsteps fell there crept + A path--it was fair and wide; + A desert road which no sands have swept, + Where never a hope has died. + + I followed you forth, and your beauty held + My heart like an ancient song, + By that desert road to the blossoming plains + I came, and the way was long. + + So, I set my course by the light of your eyes; + I care not what fate may send; + On the road I tread shine the love-starred skies, + The road with never an end. + + + + + + + A SON OF THE NILE + + Oh, the garden where to-day we, sow and to-morrow we reap; + Oh, the sakkia turning by the garden walls; + Oh, the onion-field and the date-tree growing, + And my hand on the plough--by the blessing of God; + Strength of my soul, O my brother, all's well! + + + + + + + A FAREWELL FROM THE HAREM + + Take thou thy flight, O soul! Thou hast no more + The gladness of the morning: ah, the perfumed roses + My love laid on my bosom as I slept! + How did he wake me with his lips upon mine eyes, + How did the singers carol, the singers of my soul, + That nest among the thoughts of my beloved! + All silent now, the choruses are gone, + The windows of my soul are closed; no more + Mine eyes look gladly out to see my lover come. + There is no more to do, no more to say + Take flight, my soul, my love returns no more! + + + + + + + AN ARAB LOVE SONG + + The bed of my love I will sprinkle with attar of roses, + The face of my love I will touch with the balm, + With the balm of the tree from the farthermost wood, + From the wood without end, in the world without end. + My love holds the cup to my lips, and I drink of the cup, + And the attar of roses I sprinkle will soothe like the evening dew, + And the balm will be healing and sleep, and the cup I will drink, + I will drink of the cup my love holds to my lips. + + + + + + + THE CAMEL-DRIVER TO HIS CAMEL + + Fleet is thy foot: thou shalt rest by the etl tree; + Water shalt thou drink from the blue-deep well; + Allah send his gard'ner with the green bersim, + For thy comfort, fleet one, by the etl tree. + As the stars fly, have thy footsteps flown-- + Deep is the well, drink, and be still once more; + Till the pursuing winds, panting, have found thee + And, defeated, sink still beside thee-- + By the well and the etl tree. + + + + + + + THE TALL DAKOON + + The Tall Dakoon, the bridle rein he shook, and called aloud, + His Arab steed sprang down the mists which wrapped them like a + shroud; + But up there rang the clash of steel, the clanking silver chain, + The war-cry of the Tall Dakoon, the moaning of the slain. + + And long they fought--the Tall Dakoon, the children of the mist, + But he was swift with lance and shield, and supple of the wrist, + Yet if he rose, or if he fell, no man hath proof to show-- + And wide the world beyond the mists, and deep the vales below! + + For when a man, because of love, hath wrecked and burned his ships, + And when a man for hate of love hath curses on his lips, + Though he should be the peasant born, or be the Tall Dakoon, + What matters then, of hap, or place, the mist comes none too soon! + + + + + + + THERE IS SORROW ON THE SEA + + Our ship is a beautiful lady, + Friendly and ready and fine; + She runs her race with the storm in her face, + Like a sea-bird over the brine. + + In her household work no hand does shirk,-- + No need of belaying-pins,-- + And the captain dear and the engineer, + They both look after the Twins: + + The Twins that drive her to do her best + Where the Roaring Forties rage + From the Fastnet Height to the Liberty Light, + And the Customs landing-stage. + + Where the crank-shafts pitch in the iron ditch, + Where the main-shaft swims and glides, + Where the boilers keep, in the sullen deep, + A master-hand on the Tides; + + Where the reeking shuttle and booming bar + Keep time in the hum of the toiling hive,-- + The men of the deep, while the travellers sleep, + Their steel-clad coursers drive. + + And Davy Jones' locker is full + Of the labour that moves the world; + And brave they be who serve the sea + To keep our flags unfurled: + + The Union Jack and the Stripes and Stars, + Gallant and free and true, + In a world-wide trade, and a fame well made, + And humanity's work to do. + + Now list, ye landsmen, as ye roam, + To the voice of the men offshore, + Who've sailed in the old ship Never Return, + With the great First Commodore. + + They fitted foreign (God keeps the sea), + They stepped aboard (God breaks the wind). + And the babe that held by his father's knee, + He leaves, with his lass, behind. + + And the lad will sail as his father sailed, + And a lass she will wait again; + And he'll get his scrip in his father's ship, + And he'll sail to the Southern Main; + + And he'll sail to the North, and he'll make to the East, + And he'll overhaul the West; + And he'll pass outspent as his father went + From his landbirds in the nest. + + There are hearts that bleed, there are mouths to feed, + (Now one and all, ye landsmen, list) + And the rent's to pay on the quarter-day-- + (What ye give will never be missed) + + And you'll never regret, as your whistle you wet, + In Avenue Number Five, + That you gave your "quid" to the lonely kid + And the widow, to keep 'em alive. + + So out with your golden shilling, my lad, + And your bright bank-note, my dear! + We are safe to-night near the Liberty Light, + And the mariner says, What Cheer! + + + + + + + THE AUSTRALIAN STOCKRIDER + + I ride to the tramp and shuffle of hoofs + Away to the wild waste land, + I can see the sun on the station roofs, + And a stretch of the shifting sand; + The forest of horns is a shaking sea, + Where white waves tumble and pass; + The cockatoo screams in the myall-tree, + And the adder-head gleams in the grass. + + The clouds swing out from beyond the hills + And valance the face of the sky, + And the Spirit of Winds creeps up and fills + The plains with a plaintive cry; + A boundary-rider on lonely beat + Creeps round the horizon's rim; + He has little to do, and plenty to eat, + And the world is a blank to him. + + His friends are his pipe, and dog, and tea, + His wants, they are soon supplied; + And his mind, like the weeping myall-tree, + May droop on his weary ride, + But he lives his life in his quiet way, + Forgetting,--perhaps forgot,-- + Till another rider will come some day, + And he will have ridden, God wot! + + To the Wider Plains with the measureless bounds: + And I know, if I had my choice, + I would rather ride in those pleasant grounds, + Than to sit 'neath the spell of the voice + Of the sweetest seraph that you could find + In all the celestial place; + And I hope that the Father, whose heart is kind, + When I speak to Him face to face, + + Will give me something to do up there + Among all the folks that have died, + That will give me freedom and change of air, + If it's only to boundary ride: + For I somehow think, in the Great Stampede, + When the world crowds up to the Bar, + The unluckiest mortals will be decreed + To camp on the luckiest star. + + + + + + + THE BRIDGE OF THE HUNDRED SPANS + + It was the time that the Long Divide + Blooms and glows like an hour-old bride; + It was the days when the cattle come + Back from their winter wand'rings home; + Time when the Kicking Horse shows its teeth, + Snarls and foams with a demon's breath; + When the sun with a million levers lifts + Abodes of snow from the rocky rifts; + When the line-man's eyes, like the lynx's, scans + The lofty Bridge of the Hundred Spans. + + Round a curve, down a sharp incline, + If the red-eyed lantern made no sign, + Swept the train, and upon the bridge + That binds a canon from ridge to ridge. + Never a watchman like old Carew; + Knew his duty, and did it, too; + Good at scouting when scouting paid, + Saved a post from an Indian raid-- + Trapper, miner, and mountain guide, + Less one arm in a lumber slide; + Walked the line like a panther's guard, + Like a maverick penned in a branding-yard. + "Right as rain," said the engineers, + "With the old man working his eyes and ears." + + "Safe with Carew on the mountain wall," + Was how they put it, in Montreal. + Right and safe was it East and West + Till a demon rose on the mountain crest, + And drove at its shoulders angry spears, + That it rose from its sleep of a thousand years, + That its heaving breast broke free the cords + Of imprisoned snow as with flaming swords; + And, like a star from its frozen height, + An avalanche leaped one spring-tide night; + Leaped with a power not God's or man's + To smite the Bridge of the Hundred Spans. + + It smote a score of the spans; it slew + With its icy squadrons old Carew. + Asleep he lay in his snow-bound grave, + While the train drew on that he could not save; + It would drop, doom-deep, through the trap of death, + From the light above, to the dark beneath; + And town and village both far and near + Would mourn the tragedy ended here. + + One more hap in a hapless world, + One more wreck where the tide is swirled, + One more heap in a waste of sand, + One more clasp of a palsied hand, + One more cry to a soundless Word, + One more flight of a wingless bird; + The ceaseless falling, the countless groan, + The waft of a leaf and the fall of a stone; + Ever the cry that a Hand will save, + Ever the end in a fast-closed grave; + Ever and ever the useless prayer, + Beating the walls of a mute despair. + Doom, all doom--nay then, not all doom! + Rises a hope from the fast-closed tomb. + Write not "Lost," with its grinding bans, + On life, or the Bridge of the Hundred Spans. + + See, on the canon's western ridge, + There stands a girl! She beholds the bridge + Smitten and broken; she sees the need + For a warning swift, and a daring deed. + See then the act of a simple girl; + Learn from it, thinker, and priest, and churl. + See her, the lantern between her teeth, + Crossing the quivering trap of death. + Hand over hand on a swaying rail, + Sharp in her ears and her heart the wail + Of a hundred lives; and she has no fear + Save that her prayer be not granted her. + Cold is the snow on the rail, and chill + The wind that comes from the frozen hill. + Her hair blows free and her eyes are full + Of the look that makes Heaven merciful-- + Merciful, ah! quick, shut your eyes, + Lest you wish to see how a brave girl dies! + Dies--not yet; for her firm hands clasped + The solid bridge, as the breach out-gasped, + And the rail that had held her downward swept, + Where old Carew in his snow-grave slept. + + Now up and over the steep incline, + She speeds with the red light for a sign; + She hears the cry of the coming train, + it trembles like lanceheads through her brain; + And round the curve, with a foot as fleet + As a sinner's that flees from the Judgment-seat, + She flies; and the signal swings, and then + She knows no more; but the enginemen + Lifted her, bore her, where women brought + The flush to her cheek, and with kisses caught + The warm breath back to her pallid lips, + The life from lives that were near eclipse; + Blessed her, and praised her, and begged her name + That all of their kindred should know her fame; + Should tell how a girl from a cattle-ranche + That night defeated an avalanche. + Where is the wonder the engineer + Of the train she saved, in half a year + Had wooed her and won her? And here they are + For their homeward trip in a parlour car! + Which goes to show that Old Nature's plans + Were wrecked with the Bridge of the Hundred Spans. + + + + + + + NELL LATORE + + Rebel? . . . I grant you,--my comrades then + Were called Old Pascal Dubois' Men + Half-breeds all of us . . . I, a scamp, + The best long-shot in the Touchwood Camp; + Muscle and nerve like strings of steel, + Sound in the game of bit and heel-- + There's your guide-book. . . . But, Jeanne Amray, + Telegraph-clerk at Sturgeon Bay, + French and thoroughbred, proud and sweet, + Sunshine down to her glancing feet, + Sang one song 'neath the northern moon + That changed God's world to a tropic noon; + And Love burned up on its golden floor + Years of passion for Nell Latore-- + Nell Latore with her tawny hair, + Glowing eyes and her reckless air; + Lithe as an alder, straight and tall-- + Pride and sorrow of Rise-and-Fall! + Indian blood in her veins ran wild, + And a Saxon father called her child; + Women feared her, and men soon found + When they trod on forbidden ground. + Ride! there's never a cayuse knew + Saddle slip of her; pistols, too, + Seemed to learn in her hands a knack + How to travel a dead-sure track. + Something in both alike maybe, + Something kindred in ancestry, + Some warm touch of an ancient pride + Drew my feet to her willing side. + My comrade, she, in the Touchwood Camp, + To ride, hunt, trail by the fire-fly lamp; + To track the moose to his moose-yard; pass + The bustard's doom through the prairie grass; + To hark at night to the crying loon + Beat idle wings on the still lagoon; + To hide from death in the drifting snow, + To slay the last of the buffalo. . . . + Ah, well, I speak of the days that were; + And I swear to you, I was kind to her. + I lost her. How are the best friends lost? + The lightning lines of our souls got crossed-- + Crossed, and could never again be free + Till Death should call from his midnight sea. + + One spring brought me my wedding day, + Brought me my bright-eyed Jeanne Amray; + Brought that night to our cabin door + My old, lost comrade, Nell Latore. + Her eyes swam fire, and her cheek was red, + Her full breast heaved as she darkly said: + "The coyote hides from the wind and rain, + The wild horse flies from the hurricane, + But who can flee from the half-breed's hate, + That rises soon and that watches late?" + Then went; and I laughed Jeanne's fears afar, + But I thought that wench was our evil star. + Be sure, when a woman's heart gets hard, + It works up war like a navy yard. + + Half-breed and Indian troubles came-- + The same old story--land and game; + And Dubois' Men were the first to feel + The bullet-sting and the clip of steel; + And last in battle 'gainst thousands sent, + With Gatling guns for our punishment. + Every cause has its traitor; then + How should it fare with Dubois' Men! + Beaten their cause was, and hunted down, + Like to a moose in the chase full blown, + Panting they stood; and a Judas sold + Their hiding-place for a piece of gold. + And while scouts searched for us night and day + Jeanne telegraphed on at Sturgeon Bay. + Picture her there as she stands alone, + Cold, in the glow of the afternoon; + Picture, I ask you, that patient wife, + Numb with fear for her husband's life, + When a sharp click-click awakes her brain + To life, with the needle-points of pain. + A message it was to Camp Pousette-- + One that the half-breeds think on yet: + "Dubois' gang are in Rocky Glen, + Take a hundred and fifty men; + Go by the next express," it said, + "Bring them up here, alive or dead!" . . . + + "Go by the next express!" and she, + Standing there by the silent key, + Said it over and over again, + Thinking of one of Dubois' Men + Thinking in anguish, heart and head, + Of him, brought up there alive or dead. + Save him, and perish to save him, yes! + But three hours more, and that next express + Would thunder by her, and she, alas! + Must stand there still and let it pass. + Duty was duty, and hers was clear; + God seemed far off, and no friend near. + But the truest friend and the swiftest horse + Must ride that ride on a breakneck course; + And with truest horse and swiftest friend, + To the fast express was the winning end! + And as if one pang was needed more, + There stood in the doorway, Nell Latore-- + Nell Latore, with her mocking face, + Restless eyes, and her evil grace; + Quick to read in the wife's sad eyes, + The deep, strange woe, and the hurt surprise. + Slow she said, with piercing breath, + "Rebel fighter dies rebel death!" + Said, and paused; for she seemed to see + Far through the other's misery, + Something that stilled her; triumph fled + Shamed and fast, as the young wife said-- + "He keeps his faith with an oath he swore, + For the half-breed's freedom, Nell Latore; + And, did he lie here, eyes death-dim, + You, if you spoke but truth of him, + Truth, truth only, should stand and say, + 'He never wronged me, Jeanne Amray.'" + Then, for a moment, standing there, + Hushed and cold as a dead man's prayer, + Nell Latore, with the woman now, + Scorching the past from her eyes and brow + "Trust me," she said, like an angel-call, + "Tell me his danger, tell me all." + + Quick resolve to a quick-told tale-- + Nell Latore, to the glistening rail + Fled, and on it a hand-car drew, + Seized the handles, and backward threw + One swift, farewell look, and said, + "You shall have him alive, not dead!" + Ah, well for her that her arms were strong, + And cord and nerve like a knotted thong, + And well for Jeanne in her sharp distress, + That Nell was racing the fast express + Her whole life bent to this one deed, + And, like a soul from its prison freed, + Rising, dilating, reached across + Hills of conquest from plains of loss. + Gorges echoed as she passed by, + Wild fowl rose with a plaintive cry; + On she sped; and the white steel rang-- + "Save him--save him for her!" it sang. + Once, a lad at a worn-out mine + Strove to warn her with awe-struck sign-- + Turned she neither to left nor right, + + Strained till the Rock Hills came in sight; + "But two miles more," to herself she said, + "Then she shall have him alive, not dead!" + The merciful gods that moment heard + Her promise, and helped her to keep her word; + For, when the wheels of the fast express + Slowed through the gates of that wilderness, + Round a headland and far away + Sailed the husband of Jeanne Amray. + While all that hundred-and-fifty then, + Hot on the trail of the Dubois Men, + Knew, as they stood by the pine-girt store, + The girl that had foiled them--Nell Latore. + Slow she moved from among them, turned + Where the sky to the westward burned; + Gazed for a moment, set her hands + Over her brow, so! drew the strands + Loose and rich of her tawny hair, + Once through her fingers, standing there; + Then again to the rail she passed. + One more look to the West she cast, + And into the East she drew away: + Backwards and forwards her brown arms play, + Forwards and backwards, till far and dim, + She grew one with the night's dun rim; + Backwards and forwards, and then, was gone + Into I know not what . . . alone. + She came not back, she may never come; + But a young wife lives in a cabin home, + Who prays each night that, alive or dead, + Come God's own rest for her lonely head: + And I--shall I see her then no more, + My comrade, my old love, Nell Latore? + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EMBERS BY PARKER, ENTIRE *** + +******* This file should be named gp98w10.txt or gp98w10.zip ****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, gp98w11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, gp98w10a.txt + +This eBook was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net> + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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